The Captain and the Consulting Detective
by RemyDico5
Summary: Cabin Pressure Crossover. Sherlock is taking John on a surprise trip to Paris for a case. They've hired MJN air to take them and are shocked by the similarities Sherlock shares with a certain Captain. *Could become Mature Later on
1. Chapter 1

John arrived home to 221B Baker Street to find two suitcases by the door. It had been a particularly grueling day at the surgery and he was anxious to collapse onto his bed for a sleep. Still, he couldn't help stopping to ask Sherlock about the cases. If his flatmate was going to be gone for awhile, which two suitcases would suggest, John wanted to talk to him before he left.

"John, you're home. Excellent." Sherlock said appearing on the last step of the stairs. His footsteps had been barely audible to the point where John hadn't even been aware of his presence until he spoke.

"So you're off on a trip then?" John asked giving his friend a small smile. "Where will you be going?"

"Correction, where will _**we**_ be going? I took the liberty of packing some of your things." Sherlock said motioning to the suitcase. John looked it over more carefully and realized it was his.

"What? Sherlock I can't just go on a little holiday with you. I've got my job." He reminded him. Sherlock seemed to function under the assumption that John was available for his disposal whenever it fancied him. It was the sort of inconsiderate behavior John had come to expect.

"It's not a holiday John, it's a case. You are perfectly welcome to stay here if you'd rather." Sherlock said indifferent, crossing the room in his usual graceful manner.

"Damn it." John mumbled under his breath. If Sherlock was going on a case, John couldn't exactly let him go on his own, could he? "I'll call Sarah and let her know I won't be in."

"It's already been done." Sherlock waved a dismissive hand before crouching down to put something in one of the suitcases. John sighed and shook his head. It felt like he no longer made decisions for himself and he really should have put a stop to it but at the moment he was too exhausted.

"Alright, I'll see you in the morning." John said heading for the stairs to pass out on his bed.

"No time for sleep, John, we're leaving now." Sherlock said closing the suitcase and standing.

"Now?" John asked scrunching his face in confusion.

"Yes, now." Sherlock replied impatiently. "Do try to keep up John. I realize you're sleep deprived and will therefore be a bit slower than usual but you can do better than that. Why would I pack the suitcases now if we were leaving in the morning?"

_Because you're mental? _John thought but didn't dare say it out loud. "We're leaving now? Right this second?"

"Our plane is already waiting for us and it's a fifteen minute cab ride to Fitton airfield." Sherlock explained quickly.

"Our plane? Please tell me you don't own an a plane." Although for some reason that wasn't very hard to believe considering everything he knew about the man.

"Don't be ridiculous John. Mycroft has arranged for a private charter plane to take us to Paris."

"A private jet?" John's head was all fuzzy from the lack of sleep. It felt like Sherlock was talking nonsense. Of course then Sherlock actually did start talking nonsense.

"Yes, I'm a bit worried about what kind of outfit it is. I went on their website and it was frightening stuff. A line of dancing planes."

"What?"

"It's not important. Come along John." Sherlock said walking over and guiding John out the door. John willingly obeyed and started down the stairs. He wasn't remotely surprised to find there was already a taxi waiting. Sherlock had grabbed their bags and put them in the boot.

"So are you going to tell me about the case?" John asked when Sherlock had climbed into the cab and was sitting next to him.

"All in good time." Sherlock said with a grin before giving their destination to the cabbie.


	2. Chapter 2

If John was worried the trip was too extravagant, his mind was put to rest when he saw the plane. It looked to be held together with tape and string and probably a great deal of optimism. Although hiring a sixteen person plane to take two men to Paris seemed a little excessive. He wasn't sure why they couldn't have just gone on a commercial flight.

They stepped out of the cab into the hanger. Looking around, there didn't seem to be anyone who might work for the airline. There didn't seem to be anyone at all. Sherlock and John exchanged nervous glances, unsure what to do. Sherlock pulled out his phone, his thumbs moving quickly. John assumed he was texting Mycroft to complain about the accommodations and their current predicament.

"Hello." An elderly woman called somewhat out of breath as she hurried over with a slightly chubby man with a large grin in tow. "I'm Carolyn Knapp-Shappey, owner and manager of MJN. I'm so sorry we're late."

"That's quite alright." John said giving her a polite smile. "We only just arrived."

"Five minutes ago." Sherlock added and John shot him a look.

"Idiot features over here locked the keys in my car. We were forced to take his rubbish car."

"Well not to worry."

"Hello, I'm Arthur." The man said giving them a cheerful wave. John wasn't sure man was a very accurate description. Arthur had to be in his thirties, yet he still looked boyish and a bit, well, vague.

"Shall we board the plane?" Sherlock asked impatiently while slipping his phone back into his coat pocket.

"Yes, of course. Right this way." Mrs. Knapp-Shappey said leading them. She turned to Arthur as they walked. "And where are the two idiots I pay to fly this thing?"

"I don't know." Arthur shrugged. "I'm sure they'll be here any minute."

"They better be." Carolyn grumbled under her breath.

John and Sherlock stored their bags in the overhead compartments and got themselves settled. Carolyn had gone to make them tea while Arthur hovered, just staring at them. If it had been anyone else, it would have been unsettling. Some how with Arthur it seemed harmless, like he was simply curious.

"Are you quite finished?" Sherlock snapped, turning to face Arthur.

"Sorry." Arthur blushed and grinned sheepishly. "Mum was telling me, well the thing is, are you really a private detective?"

"Consulting Detective." Sherlock corrected.

"Brilliant!" Arthur exclaimed, his eyes widening. "What is that?"

"The police come to me when they are unable to solve a case." Sherlock explained.

"Oh right." Arthur said still looking slightly confused. "It's just I've never heard of a….that before."

"Well you wouldn't. I'm the only one in the world, I invented the job." Sherlock said with the usual sense of pride he got when he told people that

"Wow!" Arthur gasped looking impressed. Sherlock tended to have that kind of effect on people.

"Although you don't get paid for it." John reminded him. Could you really call something your job if you rarely received any income for doing so? Surely that made it more of a hobby, except John knew solving murders was much more than a hobby for Sherlock.

"That's of little consequence." Sherlock brushed it off like he always did when John mentioned money.

"So you're like a real life Miss Marple!" Arthur interjected, his face glowing with excitement. John stifled a laugh. He'd never heard anyone make the comparison before but now that Arthur had, John couldn't get the imagine out of his head. Sherlock shot him a puzzled look.

"I'm unfamiliar with Miss Marple."

"You must have heard of Miss Marple." Arthur said disbelievingly. "She's in all those Agatha Christie novels?"

"Don't waste your time Arthur." John warned having learned long ago that pop culture references were mostly lost on Sherlock.

"So when you're solving a mystery, do you always pick the last person anyone would expect?"

"No…" Sherlock said slowly, looking irritated and confused. That was never a good combination. "I base everything on facts. It has nothing to do with who is the most likely to commit a murder."

"Oh." Arthur's face fell in disappointment

"Hello." A tall middle aged man dressed in a pilots uniform said joining them on the plane.

"Douglas, you're late. Mum's pretty cross." Arthur informed him.

"Well then she shouldn't schedule flights during the time normal people are sitting down for dinner." Douglas shrugged nonchalantly. "And where is Martin?"

"Still not here." Arthur sounded concerned.

"Here you are." Carolyn said bringing in two cups. She passed on to John and the other to Sherlock. "Douglas, how good of you to join us."

"I thought so." Douglas joked.

"Now that the Captain is here, perhaps we could get underway?" Sherlock said sipping his tea.

"He's not the Captain." John told Sherlock, smiling smugly like he always did when he knew something Sherlock didn't. "Captains epaulets have four bars. His only have three. That's the Captain." John pointed to the man who had just walked in.

"Yes, I'm the Captain." The man said with a sigh. It was obviously a declaration he had to make often. "Captain Martin Crieff.

The man lifted his head up and John got a good look at him. "Oh my god." John said, his jaw dropping.


	3. Chapter 3

"John, will you please stop staring." Sherlock snapped in an irritated fashion.

"I can't help it." John said through his wide grin. "It's just uncanny."

"I personally don't see it." Sherlock said coldly while he flipped through a magazine.

"You've got to be joking. It's like a shorter, ginger version of you."

"The nose and chin are similar." Sherlock said following John's gaze. The cabin crew were arguing in the galley. Martin was standing in the perfect spot for Sherlock and John to be able to see him. The pilot seemed to be growing redder by the second, his face starting to match his hair. "Less prominent cheekbones and a rounder face." Sherlock finished his analysis.

"Still, the resemblance is amazing."

"If you insist." Sherlock said dropping the subject.

John went back to staring at Martin He was making his excuses for being late but it seemed that Carolyn wasn't having any of it. John sipped his tea and tried not to be obvious that he was looking, after all he didn't want to seem weird or like he was prying. But it was like being in a bizarre alternate reality where Sherlock was not only a pilot, an actual human being.

With John and Sherlock growing quiet, the cabin crew's voices carried so John could hear them. "This is your job Martin and I expect you to be on time."

"I'm sorry Carolyn but I was busy doing the job I actually get paid to do. It just took a bit longer than I was expecting."

"And what's your excuse?" Carolyn asked turning her attention to Douglas.

"I was rather busy having dinner." Douglas answered simply.

"Oh how rude of us to interrupt your feast!" Carolyn replied snidely.

"With my daughter." Douglas finished. "Who I never get to see."

"Doesn't she live with you?" Arthur asked.

"No, she sadly has the unfortunate luck of staying with her mother, the first Mrs. Douglas Richardson."

"Listen up you two. I cannot keep clients waiting while you lollygag doing whatever you please."

"But Carolyn I—"

"Shut up Martin." Carolyn shot back. Martin opened his mouth to say something but then shut it firmly.

"So the question becomes, why are we still keeping the clients waiting? Shouldn't we, I don't know, start actually flying the plane?" Douglas interjected.

"Look, I'm getting paid an inordinate sum of money to take these two to Paris. The man who booked the flight said that they are to get there as quickly and comfortably as possible. That means no mistakes gentlemen and none of your regular foolishness."

John grew concerned. He looked over at Sherlock, who had finished his tea and had his phone out, texting away. "Did you book this flight?" John asked.

"Of course not. I told you Mycroft took care of everything." Sherlock replied not even glancing up from his phone.

John relaxed. He was somehow fine with Sherlock's older brother paying for everything. He and Sherlock did not have inordinate amounts of cash to be paying for this trip. But that begged the question why Mycroft was paying for it. Why was he being so accommodating? Then again, John had no idea why they were going to Paris in the first place. Did the case they were on have something to do with Mycroft? Maybe he was the one who had brought the case to Sherlock and therefore felt the need to pay their expenses for the trip. It was the only logical conclusion.

"So are you going to tell me about the case we're on or are you going to continue to leave me in the dark?" John asked trying to start up a conversation.

"You'll know when you need to." Sherlock answered cryptically.

_So much for that_, John thought as he slumped down in his seat. It was going to be a long flight.

"This is ridiculous." Sherlock grumbled and was out of his seat in seconds. John quickly got up to follow him, recognizing that Sherlock was in one of his moods. He would probably insult the entire cabin crew and get them kicked off the plane.

"Excuse me, might we expect to be in the air soon or should I just plan on dying of old age while I wait?" Sherlock asked, his voice louder than necessary.

"Sherlock." John said through gritted teeth.

"Of course, we will be in the air momentarily." Carolyn said being appeasing because of what they were paying her. John offhandedly wondered just how much Mycroft had generously given for this trip.

"Good. We'll see if your seemingly incompetent staff can handle it." Sherlock's eyes flashed with malice.

"Hey!" Arthur said offended.

Sherlock turned on his heels and went back to his seat to sulk. John looked at the cabin crew, who all looked unhappy and slightly murderous. He couldn't really blame them. "I'm so sorry." He said, very familiar with apologizing for Sherlock's behavior

"Douglas, Martin please go to the flight deck and get us in the air as quick as you can." Carolyn instructed them. They both grumbled under their breath but did as they were told.

"I really am terribly sorry." John apologized again.

"Not to worry. Come along Arthur, let's see about putting the dinner on."

"He's not at all like Miss Marple." Arthur said sadly as he followed his mother. John went back but chose the seat as far away from Sherlock as he could get. He knew there was no reasoning with Sherlock when he got like this. A short film played welcoming them on board with Douglas pretending he was his own twin. John couldn't help wondering if people actually were thick enough to fall for that.

_BING BONG. This is first officer Douglas Richardson. We'll be taking off in a moment and apologize for the delay. We certainly hope no one has __**died**__ during the grueling wait, as that would be a crying shame. Thank you. _

John snorted and looked over at Sherlock He had his jaw tight and his hands were clenched into fists. Honestly the man did not know how to take a joke. He looked as if his head was going to explode. John watched Carolyn hurry into the flight deck, probably to yell at Douglas.

Arthur appeared at the front of the cabin, looking unsure. John raised his hand to give a little wave and Arthur smiled. Bounding down the aisles, he came and sat down next to John, ignoring Sherlock as he passed completely.

"So what do you do John? Are you like Sherlock's plucky sidekick?"

"Oh god I hope not." John said making a face. He really hoped that wasn't how people saw him. "No, I'm a doctor. I was also in the army for awhile."

"Brilliant. So you've fired a gun?" Arthur asked excitedly.

"Yes, lots." John nodded

"And have you ever been shot?"

"I have in fact."

"Wow. So you're like a proper hero?" Arthur said blinking at him in awe.

"I really wouldn't say that." John had never considered himself to be one.

Arthur continued to ask John all sorts of questions about being a soldier until Carolyn came out of the flight deck. "Arthur, you're supposed to be putting the dinner on!" she yelled at him, appalled.

"Oh right." Arthur said getting up out of his seat. "I forgot."

"You're too modest John." Sherlock finally spoke up when they were alone in the cabin. "You've done some remarkable things."

"Doesn't make me a hero." John shrugged. "And I distinctly recall you telling me that heroes don't exist."

"I believe idolizing someone is foolish and a waste of time. Still, I stand by what I said just now. You're a remarkable man."

John stared at him for a moment. "You're not usually one for doling out compliments."

"I give credit when it is deserved." Sherlock said simply and turned away.

John continued to give his flatmate a funny look. This had been a strange day even compared to the usual oddness his life enveloped. A surprise trip to Paris, Sherlock's doppelganger, being called a hero not just by Arthur but by Sherlock of all people. This day was turning out to be very bizarre indeed.

A wave of exhaustion washed over him and he remembered how tired he was. It was uncertain how much rest he would get in Paris since they were on a case. That usually meant a great deal of running around and very little time to rest. It would be smart of him to take advantage of this opportunity to get some now. He pushed back against his chair to make it recline a bit and closed his eyes, prepared to sleep the entire trip to Paris.


	4. Chapter 4

John was pulled out of his dream by the sound of shouting, lots of shouting. His eyes snapped open and he sat up. His eyes immediately went to Sherlock's seat, which was vacant. He groaned and got up and headed in the direction of the noise.

The yelling seemed to be coming from the flight deck. John opened the door a crack and peered in. What he saw looked like one of those strange funhouse mirrors that distort the image. If he hadn't known Martin was a separate person, he would have thought Sherlock was standing in front of one. He rubbed his eyes to get the sleep out of them and looked again.

Martin and Sherlock were face to face, screaming at each other. Martin's face was an alarming shade of red while Sherlock's face was the usual pale shade, although his jaw was sticking out from the strain of him clenching it.

"Either you're a complete idiot or you're just incompetent." Sherlock yelled.

"I'm not an idiot!" Martin shouted back, clearly not realizing the implication of what he'd said.

"I'm paying you to fly me to Paris, not somewhere in the general vicinity." Sherlock said, towering over the smaller man.

"It's not as if I have much choice in the matter."

"I don't care. I need to be in Paris by tonight. Maybe if you weren't such an imbecile, you could accomplish such a very simple task."

"Look, I don't know who you think you are, but I am the Captain of this vessel and that means I'm in charge!" Martin exclaimed indignantly.

John noticed Douglas in the co-pilot's seat and decided he'd rather talk to him than the other two. "Sorry, what's going on?" John asked after he'd squeezed past the others.

"There's a bit of a problem. Paris is experiencing a blizzard and says we can't land there. Your friend over there would like us to do so anyway." Douglas filled him in.

"So where are we going to land?" John asked confused.

"Lille airport, about 125 miles from Paris."

"Oh." John thought that sounded reasonable. "So what are they fighting about?"

"Well he seems to think flying through a blizzard is a piece of cake." Douglas hitched his thumb at Sherlock.

"Why hasn't Mrs. Knapp-Shappey put a stop to this?" John motioned to the other two who were still going at it.

"Carolyn is having a bit of a dilemma choosing between the person who is right and the person who is paying her the cash."

"Right." John said understanding. "And Arthur?"

"Arthur doesn't like loud noises. I'd imagine he's off somewhere with his fingers in his ears."

"You can't speak to me like that, I'm the Captain!" Martin insisted desperately.

"A fiver says when things get violent, your guy wins."

"No bet." John knew better than to bet against Sherlock. Mostly because he'd seen what Sherlock was capable of. He also knew what the man was fairly unpredictable when he got like this. There was also the fact that he had very little confidence in Martin, especially since the pilot looked close to tears.

John figured he better step in before things got even more out of hand. "Alright girls, calm down." He interjected and the two men turned to glare at him. "Sherlock, go back to your seat, I'll handle this."

"John, you can't be serious." Sherlock flashed John a look that said, "don't tell me what to do."

"Sherlock, now." John said firmly, losing his patience.

Sherlock held his stare, narrowing his eyes at John. He huffed out a loud breath through his nostrils and pivoted, leaving the flight deck. Martin seemed to relax a bit the moment Sherlock was gone.

"So, no way we can get through or around the blizzard?" John asked being rational.

"'I'm afraid not." Douglas told him.

"We're diverting to Lille. There's no other option." Martin explained. "Carolyn will pay for your lodgings—"

"Although she won't be happy about it." Douglas interrupted.

"— And hopefully we can get you to Paris in the morning." Martin finished.

"That seems fine."

"Tell that to him." Martin replied bitterly.

"I will." John said heading in the direction Sherlock had gone. On his way through the galley, he ran into Arthur.

"Is the shouting over?" he asked looking uneasy.

"Yes, for now. I can't make any promises for the future." John smiled and Arthur looked somewhat less on edge.

It took some time but John finally convinced Sherlock there was no other option. Sherlock turned away from him and stared out the window, conveying that he had no interest in talking to John or anyone else.

John saw Douglas leave the flight deck and decided to go have a chat with Martin. John could feel the weight of Sherlock's gaze on him as he went past him to get to the flight deck. "Sorry, I never asked, am I allowed to be in here?" John asked sticking his head through the flight deck door.

"Technically no, but I wouldn't mind the company."

"Thanks Martin. Or am I supposed to call you Captain?" John grinned.

"You can call me skipper if you'd prefer."

"Feel free to call me John, skipper." He said moving to sit down in the empty co-pilot's seat.

"Ok." Martin nodded. "So are you and Sherlock…together?"

John raised an eyebrow. "Why do you ask?"

"Well he's kind of…"

"A wanker?" John filled in for him.

"I don't know if I would put it like that. It's just you seem so nice and he's, well, not."

"And the only way I would be able to put up with Sherlock was if I was getting sex in return?"

"Oh God. No I didn't mean—" Martin stammered nervously, trying to backtrack quickly.

"It's alright. You're not the first person to come to that conclusion. Most people we meet think we're shagging." John said trying to put Martin's mind at ease.

"It's probably is because of the way you look at each other."

"How do we look at each other?" John asked, baffled. He'd never paid much attention to the way he looked at Sherlock. He wasn't sure how it differed from the way he looked at everyone else.

"Like it's foreplay."

"Oh." John said taken aback. He would have to be careful of how he looked at Sherlock in the future. "What about you? Anyone special in your life?"

"Not really. It's difficult when you have two jobs, you know?" Martin sighed loudly.

"Surprisingly, I do know what that's like. It doesn't help when you've got a flatmate that expects you to be at their beck and call.

"Yes, I think that would make things difficult." Martin said contemplating it.

John decided to change the subject, uncomfortable discussing Sherlock with someone who looked just like him. "So what are your plans while in Paris? Are you all staying?"

"Yep. I'm sure Carolyn has put us up in the cheapest place possible."

"Well, I don't know how much free time I'll have during this trip, with the case and all, but we should all go to the pub."

"I don't know…" Martin said hesitantly.

"I won't invite Sherlock."

"Well then I'd like that very much." Martin said beaming.

"Sounds good." John said standing. "I'll let you get back to flying."

"Right. See you later John."

"Later skipper." John said putting two fingers to his forehead and giving a tiny salute.


	5. Chapter 5

They arrived in Paris the next day just after ten in the morning. The previous evening had been strange to say the least. They'd been put up in The Mercure, the closest hotel to Lille Airport. The pilots had gone to bed immediately to get some rest and Sherlock had vacated to his room, John imagined to sulk some more. That left just John, Carolyn and Arthur still awake.

John's wasn't remotely tired, his nap on the plane having disrupted his sleep schedule. "What do you say Arthur? Shall we grab a pint? I'll buy." John offered not wanting to stay up by himself.

"Can I mum?" Arthur turned to Carolyn.

"Arthur, how many times do I have to tell you? You can make your own decisions." Carolyn said in aggravation.

"Yeah, but I thought I should ask, just to be safe." Arthur answered smiling in that puppy dog way of his.

"Give me strength." Carolyn said, her eyes flicking upwards towards the heaven before walking away.

"Come along Arthur." John said clapping his hand on Arthur's back and steering him towards the pub.

They were the only two in the hotel pub and John sipped his pint while watching Arthur miming eating over and over again. Arthur had convinced him to play charades, which John was regretting. After five minutes of Arthur repeating the same motion while John gave halfhearted guesses, John gave up. "Arthur, I really have no idea."

"It was The Breakfast Club." Arthur sighed in disappointment. "Ok, this one I'm sure you'll get."

"Actually Arthur, we should probably turn in. It'll probably be an early flight tomorrow."

"Oh sure thing. Maybe we can play some more on the plane!" His face lit up at the prospect of that.

"Maybe." John said deciding he would avoid such a thing at all costs. He downed the last of his beer and left a tip for the bartender. "See you in the morning Arthur."

"Night John." Arthur said humming some unrecognizable song as he went off to bed. John shook his head slightly and chuckled. He had never seen anyone so optimistic in his life. Arthur seemed to have this interesting quality of being oddly irritating while utterly lovable. Not many people could balance the two so effectively.

John went to his room and spent the next several hours watching telly until he passed out. Martin came and got him in the morning and they all looked pretty tired as they got back on Gerti. John sat in the same row as Sherlock but chose not to sit in the seat right next to him. The one time during the flight that Arthur came over, Carolyn yelled at him and he scurried off. John was grateful for it, not ready for another hellish hour of charades.

When they exited the airport in Paris, they flagged down two cabs, one to take Sherlock and John to their hotel, the other to take the cabin crew to theirs. "So where are you lot staying?" John asked. Sherlock had already climbed into the cab.

"Mary's Hotel, quite luxurious sounding." Douglas told him, grumbling unhappily. "What about you two?"

"I don't know." John answered honestly. "Sherlock never tells me anything."

"Come along John." Sherlock called from the cab.

"Don't forget about that trip to the pub." John reminded Martin. "I have a feeling I'm going to need it."

"Sure thing." Martin nodded in response, giving john a sympathetic smile.

"See you lot later." John grinned and gave them a short wave before slipping into the cab. "You know you could have at least said something to them." John said to Sherlock as the cab pulled away from the curb.

"I don't speak when I have nothing to say." Sherlock said, his lips pursed into a straight line. John sighed and stared out the cab window. John could tell Sherlock was going to be insufferable for the entire trip, probably even more so than he usually was on a daily basis.

They were silent for the cab ride until they arrived at the hotel and John couldn't help saying something. "Bloody hell." He said as they pulled through the gate and up to the front door. John scrambled out of the cab and stared up at the place they were staying, The Shangri La Hotel. Sherlock followed after he'd paid the cabbie and stood next to John.

"Nice, isn't it?" Sherlock said finally smiling.

"Are you fucking kidding me? We're not actually staying here right? This is just where the murder took place or where we're meeting the posh clients who hired us."

"Of course not, this is our hotel." Sherlock walked forward towards the front door of the hotel and after a moment John stumbled forward and followed, still somewhat dazed.

The hotel was unlike anything he'd ever seen. Just standing in the lobby he felt underdressed and out of place. He let Sherlock go up to the receptionist alone and stood in the large room, shuffling his feet and wondering just what the hell was going on. It was one thing for Mycroft to hire a private jet to get them to Paris, it was quite another for him to put them up in a hotel like this.

"John." Sherlock called. John blinked and looked over, coming out of his delirium. Sherlock had the room key and was headed up the stairs with a bellhop in tow. John hurried after them and they climbed the stairs.

John literally gasped when the door to their room was opened and he stepped inside. It was beautiful and classy and nicer than any room he'd ever been in during his lifetime. He hurried over and opened the double doors that led to the balcony. "Holy shit." He said looking around. Right in front of him was the Eiffel Tower.

"Enjoying the view?" Sherlock asked opening the doors on the other side and stepping out to join him.

"This is surreal." John said shaking his head.

"Glad you like it." Sherlock smiled triumphantly before turning and heading back into their room.

John stared for a few more moments and then pulled himself away. He walked back into the room and shut the doors. He would have preferred to keep them open but it was the middle of January. Why couldn't they have come here in the middle of summer?

The room was blue and beige with most of the things you'd expect in a hotel room. There were a few comfy looking chairs, a desk, a flat screen TV. Everything was of a nicer scale than most hotels John had ever stayed in. But then his eyes fixated on a very large problem.

"Hold on, there's only one bed." John turned his attention to Sherlock, who was currently sitting on the only bed.

"Is there anything that doesn't escape your attention John?" Sherlock grinned.

"Why is there only one bed?" John demanded.

"Don't ask me." Sherlock shrugged. "Mycroft made the reservation."

"Why would your brother be working under the assumption that we would only require one bed?" John inquired, cocking his eyebrow and waiting for an explanation.

"There's also a sofa." Sherlock pointed out, his hand sweeping in the direction of the couch positioned at the end of the bed. John noticed Sherlock had quite effectively sidestepped the question.

"And your plan is for one of us to sleep on it." John shook his head in astonishment.

"No, my plan was for us to share the bed. It is big enough for two people." Sherlock said, obviously not understanding why this was a big deal. John pinched the bridge of his nose and tried not to think about sharing a bed with Sherlock. Of course with Sherlock it was meant literally. Still, impure thoughts were running through John's mind and he did his best to push them away like he always did when he was around Sherlock.

This was one of those times that the gap in Sherlock's knowledge was a real problem. Anyone else would have known that two men who were not related or in a relationship sharing a bed was an issue. Of course John had to be friends with the one person who wouldn't notice how wrong it was. There were a million reasons why this was a bad idea and Sherlock seemed oblivious to all of them.

"Alright, that's it. We're getting another room." John said coming up with his own plan and Sherlock's could sod off.

"We can't afford another room."

"Don't give me that!" John rolled his eyes. "We could afford a fucking private jet to bring us here, Mycroft can shell out the cash for another room. Or we'll go down to the front desk and tell them we need a different room with two beds."

Anything was preferable to the current sleeping arrangements. He couldn't just sleep in the same bed with his flatmate like it was nothing. The funniest thing about it was that Sherlock was so aloof about the whole thing. He probably had no idea what this was doing to John at all.

"Don't be ridiculous John. There aren't any other rooms. We were lucky to get this one on such short notice and Mycroft probably had to pull some strings."

John opened his mouth to say something but then closed it. There was no way to get out of this current predicament. Sherlock had managed to back him into a corner on this. He considered going to the hotel the cabin crew was staying at but then looked out the window again and decided against it. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, resigning himself to a night on the couch.


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock and John spent the day sightseeing. Had this been a normal holiday, John would have thought nothing of it but since they were meant to be on a case, he was growing increasingly suspicious. If Sherlock was on a case, he was paying very little attention to it. John had caught his flatmate staring at him more than a few times. Once or twice when he'd glanced over, Sherlock's eyes had quickly darted away, looking anywhere else but at John.

They were taking a break from the cold winter air, ducking into a French café. They drank cappuccinos and they, well John, snacked on chocolate biscuits while they talked about nothing important at all. Sherlock was staring out the window and John figured he was deducing people's life story from insignificant details that anyone else would miss.

Sherlock's gaze shifted from the people outside to John, his eyes lingering. John sipped his coffee and pretended not to notice. There was something very weird going on with Sherlock, something wasn't right. "Alright, what's wrong?" John asked unable to ignore it any longer.

"Wrong?" Sherlock asked crinkling his brow. "Why would you think something was wrong?"

"You claim we're here on a case and yet you haven't talked to anybody. I haven't seen a dead body. All we've done is sightsee, which is enjoyable but still. I don't think your brother flew us here to walk down the Seine and enjoy authentic French cuisine."

"Am I not allowed to take time to enjoy a beautiful city?" Sherlock asked folding his hands together under his chin and leaning on the table.

"You're entitled to do whatever you want. I have no problem with it. But you lured me here under the impression that we were going to solve a case. Well, that you were going to solve a case and I was going to stand around pretending to be helpful."

"You are helpful John. Your assistance is invaluable."

"Again with the compliments. First I'm remarkable, now I'm invaluable. Has something gotten into you?" John stares at Sherlock, his head cocked to the side as if he's seeing his flatmate in an entirely new light. Maybe being on holiday agreed with Sherlock, if they were indeed on a holiday and not on a case like the man had previously stated.

"I know I'm not the easiest person to get along with," John snorted and Sherlock glared at him in response before continuing. "But I am capable of being agreeable at times. I just rarely have cause to do so."

John blinked a few times and ran his tongue across his lip. "Why are we here Sherlock?"

"Would you have come if I had asked you straight out?" Sherlock asked unfolding his hands and reaching for his coffee.

"No." John was surprised by how quickly he answered. "You didn't have to lie about it."

"You've just established that if I had told the truth you wouldn't have come." He pointed out, raising the cup to his lips.

"But why now? Why Paris? Why did you bring me along?"

"It would have been frightfully dull being here on my own. And I don't abhor your company like I do most people's."

"You might as well have come on vacation with your skull."

"When I do that it attracts unnecessary attention." Sherlock grinned and John smiled back until a chuckle bubbled up and escaped from his lips. Sherlock began laughing as well and for a few minutes everything was back to normal, or at least their version of normal.

XXXXX

They'd saved the Eiffel Tower for last, heading there right around dusk. The lights had been turned on, the place lit up in all its splendor. If he had been there with anyone but Sherlock, John would have thought the whole thing was quite romantic. But since he was there with Mr. Married-to-his-work, he knew romance wasn't even a factor.

John let Sherlock go up the stairs first, watching his arse as he followed. It was one of the few indulgences John allowed himself. Normally there would be nothing to see when Sherlock had his coat on, but he had put his hands in his pockets and was pulling it in, making the coat pull tightly against his bottom. John liked to think Sherlock was doing so for his benefit but knew that was his mind running away with him.

There had been something nagging at the back of John's mind ever since they'd gone to the café. Something still wasn't sitting right with him and he'd been trying to figure it out all day. This whole trip was weird. Sherlock never left London is he could help it. Why would he suddenly want a luxury trip to Paris?

"Sherlock." John said when they had reached the top and he had gotten his breath back.

"Yes John?" Sherlock asked heading over to one of the telescopes. John walked over and stood next to it while Sherlock gazed through it.

"If this is just a holiday, why is Mycroft paying for it?" John had finally figured out what had seemed off about this trip now that he knew the true nature of it.

"Is that considered strange? For a brother to pay for his sibling to go on vacation?" Sherlock asked keeping his eyes glued to the telescope.

"Not for normal people but you and Mycroft can't even stand to be in the same room for more than a few minutes. Why would he pay for us to go to Paris? This trip is obviously very expensive."

"I'm sure he will use it to gain a quid-pro-quo in the future." Sherlock answered, turning the telescope to see something else.

"You're evading the question." John forced the issue, needing answers. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

"He did it because I asked him to." Sherlock said simply.

"Why did you ask him to?"

"I wanted to get out of the city." Sherlock replied as he attempted to walk away. John's hand shot out and grabbed Sherlock's sleeve, pulling him back and holding him still.

"Sherlock, nothing and I mean literally nothing about this is making sense. You bring me to Paris, the most romantic city in the world, under false pretenses. Your brother, who you hate, pays the bills and puts us up in a hotel with only one bed. Ok, so maybe you wanted to get away for a weekend and brought me along for the ride because you hate me less than you hate everyone else. But if I didn't know better, I would think this was some sort of seduction attempt."

Sherlock's eyes flickered down as he became unable to meet John's stare. John's jaw dropped. "No. You've got to be kidding."

"Do you think I'm incapable of such a thing?" Sherlock snapped, slightly offended. He still couldn't look John in the eye though.

"Yes." John nodded, answering honestly. That was exactly what he thought. "You don't do relationships, you don't do sex. It's all too unseemly and… human for you."

"John, despite when you may think, I am a man just like any other. I have wants, needs, desires."

"And you've decided that I fall under one if not all those categories?" John asked finding that hard to believe.

"Yes." Sherlock's eyes finally rise to meet John's.

John swallowed, still not sure if he could trust anything Sherlock was saying. "Prove it." He challenged. "Kiss me."

"Here, now?" Sherlock asked looking around.

"Yes, here on top of the Eiffel Tower, in front of God and everyone else."

"John, there's no such things as—"  
>"I'm waiting." John interrupted, tapping his foot impatiently. Only Sherlock would consider this a good time to go into a religious debate. "Your move Sherlock."<p>

They stared at each other, neither of them breaking or backing down. John's breath had become somewhat erratic as he waited in anticipation. He'd often daydreamed about kissing Sherlock, wondering what it would be like to feel his full lips against his own. He'd never imagined it quite like this.

"John, Sherlock! Hi!" Arthur said bounding over. John dropped his grip on Sherlock's arm.

John forced himself to break their gaze. "Hello Arthur." He said giving him a smile even though he was thinking what terrible timing he had.

"This is brilliant isn't it?'" Arthur asked excitedly.

"Yes." John agreed, his eyes darting over to Sherlock quickly before returning his attention to Arthur.

"I love trips like these. Usually we never leave the plane." Arthur pulled out a half eaten bar of chocolate and began munching on it with surprising vigor. He then proceeded to talk with his mouth full. "We go to all these fascinating places but never get to see them! We did get to see the leaning tower of Piza once, which was really brilliant."

John wondered if there was anything Arthur didn't find brilliant. "Are you here by yourself?" The thought of a hyper Arthur loose on Paris by himself was a frightening thought.

"No, Douglas and Skipper are here too." Arthur said scanning the crowd for them. "Chaps, look who I found!"

Arthur feverishly waved his hand to beckon them over. "Hello John." Martin said giving him a genuine smile when he walked over. "How's the case coming?"

"Oh, um. Fine." He lied, not sure how to explain what was really going on.

"Where'd Sherlock go?" Arthur asked. John looked over and Sherlock was no longer there. He saw a hint of black hair by the stairs and then it disappeared.

"Oh did we miss him?" Douglas asked sarcastically. "What a shame."

John sighed. Apparently Sherlock had chosen to flee the situation instead of dealing with it. John had a strong urge to race after Sherlock and demand more answers. Instead he continued making polite conversation with the cabin crew while his mind reeled from the information he'd just learned.


	7. Chapter 7

John returned to the hotel a bit later, after he'd made his excuses to Arthur, Douglas and Martin. As he climbed the beautiful front staircase of the hotel, he felt his whole body tense up. He had absolutely no idea what was going to happen when he got to his room and the thought put him on edge. So Sherlock had orchestrated the whole thing but what was his master plan? What could he possibly want?

John had always assumed something like this would never be an issue. John fancied men and women while Sherlock didn't fancy either. In the year they'd lived together, John had never seen Sherlock show interest in anyone that wasn't dead. Even then it wasn't sexual desire that fueled his interest (or at least John hoped it wasn't) but the intriguing idea of solving a murder.

John got to their room and realized he did not have a key. He thumped his head against the door, preparing to knock. He didn't have time to as the door flung open. John fell into the room and straight against Sherlock. He must have been standing close to the door waiting in order to answer it that quickly. Sherlock had his arms around John, holding him up. John pushed him away and straightened himself out.

John turned around and closed the door. When he turned back around, Sherlock was advancing, his lips pursed. "What the hell are you doing?" John asked, side stepping out of the way.

"What you asked." Sherlock said, looking puzzled.

"Oh Jesus." John said rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes. He'd have to wake up from this nightmare soon.

He felt breath on his face and his eyes snapped open. Sherlock's lips were barely an inch from his and his hands were placed on the wall, trapping John in. He quickly ducked down before Sherlock's mouth could make contact and slipped under his arm. It didn't seem to deter Sherlock at all. He continued coming towards John.

John was backed up against the bed and that was the last place he wanted to be. He scrambled across it, messing up the expensive blue duvet as he went. "Sherlock, will you knock it off?" John yelled angrily when he'd reached the safety of the other side and there was some space between them.

"You asked me to kiss you." Sherlock reminded him.

"For fuck's sake Sherlock, it was a test. I was trying to prove a point. I didn't mean for you to chase me around the room like a lion after its prey." John knew he had to squash this, whatever it was, as quickly and cleanly as possible.

"What point?" Sherlock asked, the corners of his lips turning down.

"Look, I don't know what's going on in that head of yours, but I do know that you don't want to kiss me."

"How could you possibly know a thing like that?"

"One year Sherlock. We've been living together for almost a year—"

"—Exactly a year." Sherlock interjected.

"What?"

"Yesterday made it exactly a year. It's why I wanted to be in Paris by last night. It was our anniversary." Sherlock gave John a small smile.

"Sherlock, anniversaries are for couples. We're not a couple, you get that don't you?" John asked, worried. What exactly did Sherlock think was the nature of their relationship?

"We could be if you would stop being so difficult."

"I'm being, what are you, you've got…" John's mouth gaped open, unable to comprehend what was happening. He closed his eyes and did his best to compose himself.

"John." Sherlock said softly, his hands resting on John's chest. He hadn't even heard Sherlock cross the room. John made a mental note to stop closing his eyes when he was alone with Sherlock. "Is your only objection to our being together the fact that you're under the impression I don't want you?"

"You don't want me Sherlock." John shook his head. Sherlock didn't want anybody, not in that way.

"Wrong." Sherlock said leaning in and gently pressing his lips to John's.

"Stop." John said jerking his head away. "Just stop tormenting me."

"I would have thought it was the other way around." Sherlock said moving in for another kiss. John grabbed a fistful of Sherlock's hair and yanked him back.

"Fine Sherlock, if yesterday was our one year anniversary then let me remind you what today is the anniversary of. One year ago today you told me you were married to your work."

"I did say that, yes." Sherlock agreed.

"And…?" John asked, needing more than that. He tugged on Sherlock's curls just a bit and the man winced in response from the pain.

"And then things changed."

"When?"

"When I asked you out."

"What? You never—"

"Don't be stupid John, of course I did."

John racked his brain but couldn't think of a single time Sherlock had asked him out. He would have known, of course he would have. Unless Sherlock had done it while he was sleeping.

"The Chinese circus case?" Sherlock said in an attempt to refresh John's memory. "I believe you called it The Blind Banker in your ridiculous blog. You came home from your job interview mooning over Sarah and I felt our relationship was threatened. So I took it upon myself to ask you out. You hadn't exactly been subtle about your interest in me, you've got such an expressive face." Sherlock reached up and traced his finger down John's cheek. "Also your bedroom walls are not as thick as you think they are."

"Back to the point." John said giving Sherlock's hair another tug.

"Yes so I figured if I became a viable option, you wouldn't need to see Sarah. But I was caught up in the case; I didn't react quickly enough. You'd already made plans with her."

"Jesus Sherlock, that was forever ago. I'm not even seeing anyone now so why start this back up."

"You still go on dates often enough and that means there's potential for there to be someone else. I can't allow that to happen."

"And you decided to what, offer yourself to me? Fuck, Sherlock don't you see how wrong that is?" John asked, completely appalled with Sherlock's logic. John had been right, Sherlock didn't want him, he just didn't want him to be with anyone else So he was offering up his body as if it were nothing.

"You require physical stimulation, I require you. It was a logical conclusion." Sherlock shrugged.

"So you're just going to whore yourself out to me whenever I want." John asked wondering how Sherlock could possibly think this was ok. How could he not see how twisted this was?

"John, I'm not a blushing virgin. It's true I don't obsess over sex the way most people seem to but as I told you earlier, I am a man who is capable of desire. Sex is not high on my list of priorities but perhaps with you the concept would not be quite so…unappealing."

"High praise indeed." John rolled his eyes.

"Good, now can we get on with it?" Sherlock asked impatiently.

"I'm not going to shag you." John put it plainly, hoping he might understand.

"Why not?"

"Because you don't want me to! How could you possibly think I'd be ok with this? It's not right Sherlock."

"John, I—"

"You knew how I felt. You probably knew from day one. To offer me this when you don't reciprocate those feelings, it's cruel Sherlock. It's cruel even for you."

John dropped his hands from Sherlock's hair and stepped around him. When he was a safe distance away, with his back to Sherlock and his piercing eyes, he spoke. This time was softer even though he was still seething. "I never asked for this. I hoped for it but I never would have asked. I wouldn't have wanted to make you uncomfortable or risk our friendship. I was fine with the way things were. God you already had such a large part of me. You would text me and I would be on the other side of London but I would still come running. I put you ahead of everything. You were the most important thing in my life."

"Why did you say that in the past tense?" Sherlock asked sounding concerned.

"We can't continue on as were, not after this. I can't worry that you'll pull this again every time I date someone. This changed everything." John said with a sigh.

"It was supposed to." Sherlock replied moving so they were face to face again. Why did he have to look so impossibly gorgeous? John congratulated himself on his self-control. "John, let me kiss you. Let me show you that I want you."

Sherlock put his hand on John's chest and then began to trail down, his fingers spread as he eased down John's front. His hand shot out and grabbed Sherlock by the wrist, removing his hand. "Stop it."

"Why are you fighting me on this?" Sherlock growled in frustration. "John, I do not think so little of myself that I would forfeit my body just to appease you. I did not come to this decision lightly, as you can tell by the amount of planning it took just to get you here."

Sherlock grabbed either side of John's face and gently pushed him down so he was sitting on the arm of the sofa. Sherlock was towering over him and kept his hand on John's face so he couldn't look away.

"About a month ago, I heard you." Sherlock started.

"Heard what?" John asked nervously. He pulled his lips in between his teeth and bit down, waiting for the penny to drop.

Sherlock swallowed and shifted his weight a bit, keeping his hands firmly on John's face. "I went to your bedroom to ask you a question. I was about to knock when I heard you inside. You were breathing loudly and every once in awhile I could hear some profanity. It took me longer than I'd like to admit to realize you were masturbating."

John's eyes darted down, unable to meet Sherlock's gaze anymore. The thought of Sherlock listening to him knock one out was embarrassing beyond measure.

Sherlock sank to his knees in front of John, forcing him to look at him. "And then you said my name. The sound echoed in my head for days and I couldn't understand why. I masturbated myself, trying to figure it out, the sound of your voice saying my name still rolling around in my brain as I did so. It wasn't until I said your name as I climaxed that I understood. I wanted to be in that room with you, hear you say my name like that again. More than that I wanted to make you say my name like that, to be the cause of it. I wanted you. I do want you."

John's breath was shaky as he forced himself to exhale the air he'd been holding in. Sherlock's thumb was caressing his cheek and for a moment he closed his eyes and allowed himself to enjoy the feeling. There was so much to process, so much to consider. Sherlock had just dumped a lot of information and John needed to think. But he couldn't think with Sherlock staring at him, a look of expectation on his face. John needed to think things through without Sherlock there. He needed to get away, to sort things out.

He pulled away from Sherlock's grasp and headed for the door. "Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, confused.

"I need some air." Was all John replied as he bolted out the door.

The doorman of the hotel flagged him down a cab. He sat with his eyes closed and his head resting on the back of the seat. He made a quick stop at a liquor store to buy a bottle before going to his planned destination. Mary's Hotel wasn't as terrible as he had been expecting. From what the cabin crew had said, John was expecting it to be a rundown place that you could barely stand to be in. It wasn't as nice as his hotel but then he figured very few places were.

He walked up to the receptionist who greeted him with a smile. "Hello sir, how can I help you?"

"Do you have a Martin Crieff staying here?"


	8. Chapter 8

"Sorry to burst in on you like this." John said as he entered the hotel room. Martin was already in his pajamas, a white t-shirt and navy blue cotton pants, and yet he'd stepped out of the way to allow John to come in. "I know it's late so feel free to throw me out any time." John hoped Martin wouldn't take him up on this. The last thing he wanted was to turn around and go back to that hotel room. He didn't want to face his problems and he was hoping Martin would be up to the task of distracting him.

"No, it's fine." Martin said shutting the door.

John took off his coat and went to put it down on the desk chair. "Uh, Martin?"

"Yes?" Martin asked walking over.

"There seems to be an Arthur asleep on your floor." John said tilting his head and looking at the slumbering steward who was curled into a fetal position on the floor with only a blanket and a pillow.

"Yeah, he does that sometimes. Says he sleeps in a bed all the time so every once in awhile he decides to crash on the floor."

"Well, whatever makes him happy." John shrugged. "Should I go? I don't want to wake him up."

"No, trust me you can't. I've tried on several occasions. Once I even jumped up and down on his bed just to see if I could get him up. When he's out, he's out. Nothing to worry about. I think it's a side effect of his being so excited and cheerful all the time."

"So how did the two of you end up sharing a room anyway?" John grabbed the bottle of vodka, removing it from the brown bag it was in. He went and sat down on Arthur's vacant bed while Martin sat on his. John opened the bottle, took a swig and passed it over.

"There were only three rooms left in the hotel, two of them singles and one a double." Martin took a sip and grimaced from drinking the alcohol straight. John grinned and took the bottle when Martin held it out to him. "Carolyn took one of the singles and then Douglas and I did rock-paper-scissors to see who would end up with the double. Needless to say, I lost."

"Could be worse." John would take Arthur as a bunk mate over his current sleeping conditions any day. He took another big gulp and ignored the burning sensation as it went down.

"Bad day?" Martin asked raising an eyebrow.

"You really have no idea." John replied taking another sip.

XXXXX

"So he kissed you?" Martin asked, his mouth hanging open.

"Yes." John nodded, the movement making him dizzy. He'd filled Martin in on what had happened, editing out a few details he didn't feel comfortable sharing. They'd continued passing the bottle back and forth as John told his story and now they were both well on their way to being pissed.

"Did you want him to kiss you?"

"I don't really know." John answered honestly.

"Well are you, you know, uh…"

John chuckled as Martin got somewhat flustered. "You can say the word Martin."

"Are you gay?"

"You assumed I was on the plane when you asked if Sherlock and I were together." John pointed out.

"I wasn't making assumptions about you. It's just when you see the two of you together, it's easy to think, and you even said that other people had –"

"Whoa Martin, calm down. It's fine."

Martin breathed a sigh of relief. "So, are you?" he asked, curious.

"Not exclusively."

"Oh right." Martin burped and quickly covered his mouth. The two men grinned at each other for a moment before bursting out into giggles. Martin finally calmed down and continued their conversation. "So you fancy girls too then?"

"Yes, I fancy girls." John was used to questions like these. Being bisexual wasn't something he offered up very often but when he did, it usually spurred a lot of questions. "You know, you can ask me."

"Ask you what?" Martin asked, not grasping John's meaning.

"The question you're dying to ask. The one guys always ask." John clarified. He was finding Martin's reaction delightfully refreshing.

"I, uh, I'm not sure what you mean." Martin's cheeks went a deep read and he looked around nervously.

"It's fine." John prompted, giving him an encouraging nod.

"Do you, not that I think you do, I mean why would you," Martin stammered and John found it kind of adorable. "Just because you fancy blokes doesn't automatically mean you'd be attracted to me but do you…fancy me?"

"No." John shook his head, giving Martin a slight smile. "Ok, maybe a bit. But taking into consideration the resemblance you bare to a certain someone, I hope you won't hold it against me."

"Oh." Martin blinked, taking in what John had just said. "Well thank you, I guess."

"Don't worry, I'll be a complete gentlemen." John promised, leaning back on his bed and propping himself up by one elbow.

"Oh ok."

"You sound disappointed." He remarked, noticing Martin's tone. John's eyes flickered over him inquisitively.

"No, oh god no, I guess I'm just a bit thrown. I'm not used to _anybody _fancying me."

"You're not unattractive, Martin. You seem to be under the impression that you're hideous or something. You're really not." John told him trying to be reassuring. It wasn't a lie. John did find Martin to be somewhat attractive. But from the short time he'd spent with the pilot, he did know that Martin was socially awkward. It was understandable that he would have trouble picking up women.

"Thank you. Now if you could just convince the general female populace of that, I'd be all set." Martin joked but it had a twinge of sadness attached to it.

"You can't be that rubbish at meeting girls."

"No, I really am. Every time I try to chat up a girl I find attractive I always end up stammering like an idiot and saying the wrong thing."

"Look, when we get back to London, you and I will go out."

"John, I'm not sure that's the best idea and I'm sorry but I'm not even slightly leaning that way—"

"No!" John snorted, feeling a sense of déjà vu. "I wasn't coming on to you. I meant we can go out to the pub, I'll help you chat up girls, it's really not that complicated."

"Sorry." Martin said embarrassed by his misapprehension.

"Shit, I'm going to have to be careful about what I say around you now, aren't I?" John asked slightly amused by it.

"Of course not. That was my entirely my fault. But if you're up the task of helping me, I could really use it."

They both fell silent yet it wasn't uncomfortable. John drank some more of the vodka and held it out to Martin. He shook his head and John shrugged, figuring that left more for him. He looked at the clock on the bedside table. It was two in the morning and he really should have been getting back to the hotel. Undoubtedly Martin wanted to sleep in the near future and John was keeping him awake. He should have said good night and left but he wasn't ready to, not yet.

"So why Sherlock?" Martin asked striking up a new conversation.

"Why Sherlock what?"

"I kind of find it hard to understand what you see in him. From what I can tell, he's really sort of…unpleasant."

"He can be." John agreed. He wasn't usually one for sharing feelings. Not like this anyway. Martin wanted to know what he saw in Sherlock. He had a few things he could say but mostly it was ineffable. "Well, I mean, you've seen him. Even as a straight man I think you can appreciate how attractive he is. It's more than that, though. He's fascinating. He's unlike anyone I've ever met or will ever meet. He can be quite insufferable, he's practically impossible to live with and as you say he can be a bit unpleasant at times. Ok most of the time. But I don't know, Sherlock Holmes doesn't tolerate many people. I suppose it makes me feel good about myself that I made the short list."

"I don't think he deserves you."

"He really doesn't." John went to let out a chuckle but the sound became strangled in his throat. He swallowed and looked down at his hands, all euphoria from a second ago gone. "It doesn't change anything, though. It should, but it doesn't."

Martin fell asleep soon after, informing John he was welcome to stay the night in Arthur's unused bed. John sat up in the bed, listening to the two men asleep in the room with him. He finished the last of the bottle and placed it carefully on the bedside table. His head felt fuzzy and a sleep sounded wonderful. And yet his body wouldn't relax enough to let him. He rubbed his eyes and breathed deeply in an attempt to get himself to sleep. If he could just get a few hours rest, he could go back to the hotel and deal with everything.

The problem was he had no idea how to deal with anything. For a year he had been struggling with his feelings, trying his best to ignore them. Apparently he hadn't done a very good job of it. Then again, hiding something from Sherlock was practically impossible.

John drilled into himself that Sherlock was off-limits. He'd always known that Sherlock was unobtainable and he'd made peace with that. But now Sherlock wanted him back and John wasn't quite sure what to do with that knowledge. The only thing he did know was that nothing was going to get sorted if he just sat there.

He wrote Martin a quick note saying thanks on the complimentary notepad the hotel put by the phone. Then he grabbed his coat, being careful to avoid stepping on Arthur, and quietly left. He walked for a little while, needing time alone with his thoughts. It had to be after three in the morning and everything was dark. He didn't really mind, he liked the feeling of being the only person awake.

It began snowing, large wet snowflakes that fell to the pavement but didn't stick. John turned up the collar of his jacket and pulled it a little tighter around him. He gave up and hailed a cab, needing to get out of the cold. He sat in the back seat rubbing his hands together and against his thighs to get his blood flow going. When he'd stopped shivering he leaned his head against the window, his eyes not focusing on anything in particular. He enjoyed the quiet calm of the cab, knowing it wouldn't last.


	9. Chapter 9

John was walking up the stairs of the hotel, each step labored and heavy, and instantly regretted not sleeping. Just walking up the flight of stairs was exhausting and he wasn't really up for a conversation. Unfortunately he wasn't up for turning around and going back to Martin's room, so this was his only option. He could only hope Sherlock was asleep so he could immediately pass out on the couch.

When he got to the room, the door was unlocked. He gently turned the handle and looked inside. Sherlock was lying on the couch, his eyes closed but John could tell he wasn't sleeping. The moment the door closed, Sherlock sat up and stared at John with an eerie intensity. John slipped off his coat and threw it onto the closest chair. He kicked off his soaked through shoes before bending down to peel off his equally wet socks. He could feel the weight of Sherlock's eyes on him but he didn't engage. Instead he walked into the bathroom to alleviate himself.

He knew Sherlock wouldn't keep up the stony silence for long. Eventually he would demand answers, ones John didn't know he could give. He hadn't really come to a decision about what to do beyond facing the problem. Now that he'd done that, he had no idea what came next.

He opened the door to find Sherlock standing there, making him jump a bit. "You came back." He said with his eyes raking over John like a fine toothcomb.

"Of course I did. What did you think, that I had hopped on a plane back to London?"

"The thought had crossed my mind."

"Well, I didn't."

"Then where were you?" Sherlock asked even though he probably had a good idea. John finally allowed himself to glance up at Sherlock. His eyes were red and a bit bloodshot, which meant he hadn't slept either. John was somewhat flattered although Sherlock was known to keep strange hours. There was no reason to assume his lack of sleep was on his account.

"I went to have a chat with Martin." John answered as vaguely as possible.

"You've been drinking." Sherlock said accusingly.

"Just a little."

"Did you kiss him?"

"What?" John's jaw dropped. Sherlock usually avoided asking John about his love life. To have him come right out and ask was surprising. John chewed on his bottom lip and looked up at his friend. Sherlock's face was twisted in pain, his eyes dark and sad, the corners of his mouth turned down. John had never seen him look so raw or emotional, so human. It was as if the idea of John kissing Martin caused him actual physical pain. John decided to put his mind to rest. "I didn't kiss Martin. He's straight anyway."

"So was the that museum curator." Sherlock pointed out, his face returning to its usual status now that John had put him out of his misery.

"Oh for fuck's sake. We only went on a few dates, we never even shagged. You make it sound like I walk around London turning men gay."

"Not at all. But you do seem to have a strong effect on people."

"Do I now?" John grinned in amusement.

"Of course. I've experienced it first hand."

"Yes, I see what you mean, it only took me an entire year. I must be magic." John's words dripped with sarcasm and he snorted before moving around Sherlock to get to his suitcase.

John bent down and opened the case, searching for his pajamas. There didn't seem to be any, showing just what Sherlock had planned for the weekend. Yet Sherlock had packed the tuxedo he'd worn to Harry's wedding, which hadn't been worn since. Of course that was necessary on their trip. John shook his head and searched for anything he could substitute for pajamas.

When he turned around, Sherlock was pacing in that manic way of his. His teeth were gritted and every once in a while he would reach up and ruffle his hair. "It's all gone wrong." He muttered to himself.

"What has? What are you talking about?" John asked, following Sherlock's movements with his eyes.

"I should have planned better. It was supposed to go smoothly. I thought a private jet would mean fewer distractions. I couldn't have anticipated—"

"Sherlock, will you stop?" John growled, grabbing him by the shoulders and forcing him to sit on the couch. "Now, tell me what's wrong."

"As if you didn't know." Sherlock's eyes flickered up and locked with John's. They stared at each other, neither of them blinking or looking away. John's thoughts returned to what Martin earlier words. Like Foreplay he had said.

"Sherlock?" John said gently, waiting for Sherlock to say something, to explain.

Sherlock lifted his head a bit and pressed his lips to John's. It was a quick kiss, just a peck really and then it was over. "John, I—"

John didn't let him finish. He grabbed a fistful of Sherlock's shirt and pulled him in for another kiss. It was awkward and strange and Sherlock wasn't really kissing him back. It wasn't at all the passionate kiss he'd been expecting when he'd pulled Sherlock back in. John had closed his eyes when they'd kissed but he opened them and saw Sherlock's lids were closed but his eyes were moving rapidly underneath. _Oh God, he's over thinking things. _

John knew he had to take control of the situation fast. He pushed on Sherlock's shoulder, forcing him back against the couch. He moved his body into the space Sherlock had just vacated, kneeling in between Sherlock's legs. John parted his lips and sucked greedily on Sherlock's bottom lip. There were so many things he wanted to do to that man, so many things he'd been imagining over the last year. But he couldn't. It was obvious Sherlock was inexperienced. Yes Sherlock was a grown man but John couldn't continue without feeling like he was taking advantage.

He pulled his lips away and Sherlock made a sort of whimpering sound. "Maybe we should talk about this first." He said biting his lip nervously.

"John, you really must learn when to shut up." Sherlock said grabbing him by the nape of his neck and pulling him back in. John tangled his fingers into Sherlock's hair and pulled his head back, slipping his tongue into Sherlock's mouth. He was enjoying being taller for once and being in control but he could tell Sherlock wasn't.

He kissed down Sherlock's jaw line and yanked his shirt down to suck on Sherlock's collarbone. Sherlock had gone rigid, his body weirdly still. John was trying to get Sherlock out of his own head but it seemed like that wasn't going to happen. John dislodged himself from Sherlock's neck with a sigh and rested his head on his shoulder.

"This isn't going to work, is it?" John was trying to hide his disappointment and failing miserably. This was what he had been afraid of. "Fuck. Jesus. Fuck."

John got off the couch quickly and got as far away as possible without leaving the room. He really wanted to bolt, to actually get on a plane to London and quickly grab what he needed to never come back for a very long time. He pressed his back against the wall, wishing he could disappear into it entirely. He thudded his head against it, chastising himself for being such a fucking idiot. He wanted this so badly, it was like an ache in his stomach and now he'd made a right mess of everything.

"Look Sherlock, we'll just forget any of this happened. You can delete it or however that works and I'll be too ashamed to mention it again. All settled."

"John." Sherlock said his name affectionately while looking at him like he was an idiot. He got off the sofa and walked over to him. "I am not one for losing control and it was surprising, which is why I reacted the way I did. It was not because I didn't enjoy it." He pressed his body against John's until they connected at the lips. Sherlock parted his experimentally, letting John in. Their tongues met, crashing together and pulling apart in waves. Sherlock pulled away to breath, resting his forehead against John's. "You're going to have to be patient with me John. This is all still quite new to me. I wonder if you might indulge me—"

"Anything." John cut him off. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, surprised by his response. John gave him a lopsided grin. "Oh God, Sherlock, anything."

Sherlock grinned in response, rather wickedly, John thought to himself. Sherlock slim fingers gripped the bottom of John's jumper and pulled it up over his head. John raised his arms to make the movement go more smoothly and then placed them back at his sides. He knew that no matter what Sherlock had in mind, he would let him.

Sherlock expertly began unbuttoning John's shirt and slipped it off his shoulders. His eyes landed on John's scar, staring at it in fascination. John shuffled his feet feeling self-conscious about it. A pale slender finger brushed against it, trailing the mark on John's body.

Sherlock's attention went elsewhere as he rubbed both thumbs against John's nipples. John let out an involuntary moan and Sherlock looked pretty damn pleased with himself. He bent his head down and licked it as if he was attempting to see if he liked the taste. He took it in between his teeth and bit down lightly. John's body bucked from the sensation and Sherlock's hand shot out to his stomach to keep him in place. He started sucking on it softly at first but then steadily harder.

John could feel his pants getting a bit too tight as Sherlock switched to the other side. His hands curled into fists and he tried to keep calm. He wanted to give Sherlock this, to let him explore, but it was incredibly difficult. Sherlock was making a sort of humming sound as he circled his tongue around John's nipple. John tried not to think of Sherlock's tongue doing that to other parts of his body.

He concentrated on his breathing as Sherlock unlatched from his nipple and turned his attention to John's trousers. He leaned in and sucked at John's neck, copying the motion John had done earlier. His hands were at John's crotch, undoing his pants until they fell to his ankles. Sherlock introduced his teeth, causing a whimper to escape from John's lips.

Sherlock was practically beaming with pride as he lifted his head to kiss John again. His eyes were hungry and quizzical, drinking John in as his tongue explored the inside of John's mouth. Sherlock's hand was on John's stomach and followed the hair from his bellybutton down, finally descending into John's shorts to grasp him. John moaned loudly, unable to stop himself. He was already hard and he throbbed in Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock moved his hand up from base to tip, then down to John's sack, squeezing it. John tried to concentrate on anything else but his mind was gone and all that was left was Sherlock. It took all the self-control he possessed not to tear Sherlock's clothes off.

Sherlock fingered the waistband of his shorts before tugging them down and freeing John's erection. The man sank to his knees in front of John and placed his hands on his hips. He licked along the underside of John's prick, which was red and swollen. John twitched in response and clenched his fists a bit tighter.

"I'm sorry Sherlock." John said, his voice husky. "I can't stand it any longer. I need to touch you."

"Very well John." Sherlock rose up in annoyance. "I now place myself in your expert hands. Thanks you for being so compliant."

"Just shut the fuck up." John growled and grabbed Sherlock's shirt, their lips smashing together. John pawed at Sherlock's clothes, frantically trying to remove them in haste. As John's fingers fumble with the shirt, Sherlock assisted by undoing his trousers. When Sherlock was naked as well, John ground his hips into him, their bodies rubbing against each other.

John decided to take it easy this time. He didn't want to overwhelm Sherlock and bending him over the desk in the corner and taking him roughly seemed like a bad idea. Instead John pushed him backwards, leading him to the bed. He pushed Sherlock down and he fell onto his back, bouncing the bed slightly. John stood over him and took a moment to admire his naked flatmate.

When he was done basking, he bent down kissed Sherlock's right hipbone, then the left, before moving down to his bullocks. He ran his tongue alone the bottom of them before taking the whole thing into his mouth and tugging a bit. A loud moan erupted from Sherlock and John pulled his mouth away in satisfaction.

His tongue flicked out and licked the tip of Sherlock's cock before taking the head into his mouth. He bobbed his head up and down, just working the head and heard Sherlock's breath catch. "John. More. I need more. Please." Sherlock begged, clutching the sheets.

John moved his head lower, keeping his lips tight around Sherlock's cock. He took him partway and then back out so just the tip was still in his mouth. He sucked at it hard, tasting precome in his mouth, and swirled it around with his tongue. Sherlock's hips bucked against him and John grabbed his hips to steady him.

He hallowed out his cheeks and took Sherlock in his mouth completely, moving his head up and down in long pulls. One hand left Sherlock's hips to cup his sack, pulling it down slightly. Sherlock shivered and writhed but John's hand kept him in place as best he could.

"John." Sherlock groaned, his hand flying down and twisting into John's short hair. "John, Oh God. John, I'm going to, I'm about to…." John's eyes flickered up, and watched Sherlock's eyes get wide as he felt the loss of control.

Sherlock didn't finish the sentence. He came hard and hot into John's mouth. John rode the orgasm out and then pulled back, Sherlock's cock falling from his mouth. He took it in one last time, sucking off any of the come he had missed. He stood up and wiped his lips and chin before heading for the bathroom.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked bolting upright.

"I'm going to take a very cold shower." John replied honestly, not seeing the point in modesty after what he'd just done.

Sherlock hopped off the bed and hurried over to John. "I was going to take care of that." He said, his eyes drifting downwards suggestively.

"It's fine." John insisted, taking Sherlock's hand and squeezing it reassuringly. He tried to go to the bathroom again but Sherlock held a tight grip on his hand and pulled him back.

"John, how inconsiderate do you think I am? After what you just did for me, you expect me to leave you to deal with yours on your own?"

"Sherlock, you don't owe me anything. Besides, neither of us have slept, I'm sure you're worn out and I don't want to put too much strain on you."

"I assure you my motivation is entirely selfish in origin." Sherlock said, reaching up and tracing John's lips with his thumb. "I've been waiting over a month for this."

"Yeah, well I've been waiting a year." John argued not feeling very sympathetic to Sherlock's plight.

"All the more reason."

He tugged on John's arm and pulled him back towards the bed. John surrendered and allowed himself be led back. John sat down on the bed and Sherlock disappeared for a moment and reemerged with a bottle in his hands. John took it from him and inspected it. "Lubricant? You actually bought lubricant?" he asked, crumbling into a fit of giggles at the absurdity of it. He had a hard time picturing Sherlock in the store buying lube. Something about it struck him as funny. "God, you had a very clear plan about what was going to happen on this trip, didn't you?"

"I was optimistic, yes." Sherlock nodded.

He climbed onto the bed, straddling John. Their lips found each others as Sherlock's hand rested on John's chest and gently pushed him down so he was lying on his back. Their mouths didn't part as Sherlock followed him down.

"So how did you want to do this?" John asked, his balls already tight, his whole body screaming for a release. He wouldn't last long.

"I think since you're the more experienced of the two of us, you should take the lead." Sherlock offered.

"Alright then." John said wrapping his arms around Sherlock and rolling them so John was on top. He needed to make this as quick and easy as possible. He felt somewhat bad for rushing their first time together but he figured it was understandable considering his lack of sleep.

John lowered his lips to Sherlock's ear and whispered gently, "Are you ready?"

"Yes." Sherlock answered quietly.

John sat up and grabbed the lube off the bed. He slicked up his fingers and then hitched Sherlock's legs onto his shoulders. He circled Sherlock's hole with his forefinger before slipping it in. "You have to relax." He said gently, He didn't move his finger, he just kept it in so Sherlock could adjust to the feel. Sherlock had winced from the pain so John didn't try attempting to find his prostate and make him moan.

"Are you ready for another?" John asked considerately.

Sherlock was biting his bottom lip and all he could do was nod. John very slowly inserted another finger, this time twisting it a bit to see how Sherlock would react. Sherlock responded by letting out a cry and arching his back.

"Good or bad?" John asked concerned.

"Good." Sherlock panted. "Very good."

The third finger sipped in fairly easily, Sherlock was opening up nicely. "I'm going to move them now."

He did a few small pulses, not wanting to overwhelm him. Sherlock seemed to have different ideas and he began grinding his hips down, pushing John's fingers further in. His arse was clinging to John's fingers, swallowing them until they almost disappeared entirely.

"Sherlock." John growled in irritation. "Are you going to let me lead or not?"

"My apologies John." Sherlock grinned in a way that said he wasn't really sorry at all.

John slipped his fingers out and shoved Sherlock's legs down off his shoulders. He crawled over and began attacking the man's mouth with his own. His hand trailed down Sherlock's stomach before wrapping his lube covered fingers around his prick. He began stroking upwards and Sherlock moaned into John's mouth. He was growing hard in John's hand and John was surprised he could get it up again already.

"John, please." Sherlock whined, thrusting into John's hand.

"Are you sure?" John whispered into Sherlock's ear, nipping at the lobe.

"Yes." Sherlock breathed.

"Say please again." John demanded, enjoying hearing it. It wasn't like Sherlock to have manners, of course they would only come out in the bedroom.

"Please." He repeated in desperation.

John sat up and grabbed the lube again, applying a decent amount to his cock. He put a pillow under Sherlock's lower back and spread his legs a bit. He gripped himself in his hand and eased himself into Sherlock so just the tip was in his hole, seeing how Sherlock's body would react. He moved in deeper and rolled his hips a few times. Growing once again impatient, Sherlock moved his body down until John's cock was completely in. He wrapped his arms around John and looked up at him innocently.

John gave up any illusion of being in control and decided just to shag Sherlock until he couldn't see straight. He pulled almost all the way out and then shoved himself back in with one quick thrust. "Oh God." Sherlock cried, his fingers digging into John's back. John did it again, garnering a similar response.

He began moving in a steadier pace now that he had punished Sherlock for his actions. His movements were slow and deliberate as Sherlock's body accepted him in. He kissed down Sherlock's chest, open mouthed so both lips and tongue were making contact. Sherlock's erection was trapped between them and John rubbed against it with each thrust, a steady flow of precome escaping out of it onto both of their stomachs.

John picked up the pace, thrusting into Sherlock without mercy. Sherlock bucked against him, clawing at John's back. "John. Oh God, John. I'm—"

A stream of come spurted from Sherlock's slit and his body shuddered. John circled his hips and rutted up against Sherlock's prostate again and again. He gripped Sherlock's hips, coming hard inside him, riding out the end of his orgasm as his vision went white. He bent his head, his whole body going limp, ready to collapse with exhaustion.

He pulled out and rolled off Sherlock, dropping onto the bed. He brushed the dampened hair off Sherlock's forehead and kissed his temple. Sherlock had a strange smile on his face, one John had never seen before. "What is it?" he asked, curious.

"I've never experience anything like that." Sherlock looked slightly dazed.

"So I take it that means it was satisfactory." John grinned, swelling with pride.

"Satisfactory?" Sherlock scoffed. "It was beyond anything I've ever… there's not even a word for how wonderful that was."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"You didn't say my name though." Sherlock said thinking back.

"Next time." John promised, wrapping his arms around Sherlock and pulling him close.


	10. Chapter 10

The sound of a door opening roused John from his sleep. He glanced at the clock and pushed his head into his pillow with a groan. It was just after seven in the morning and he was still beyond tired. He slipped his hand across the bed and found it empty and cold. So Sherlock was up and had been for some time.

John forced his body up off the bed and every limb screamed in response. He slipped into one of the plush cashmere robes the hotel provided and looked around for where Sherlock had disappeared to. He looked out onto the balcony and saw Sherlock's slim figure, his dark hair standing out in contrast to the snow covered city behind him.

Shoving his feet into his shoes, he opened the door and joined Sherlock outside. The balcony was barely dusted with snow and John was glad his feet wouldn't be getting cold and wet. It wasn't until he was closer that he noticed the cigarette placed between Sherlock's lips. He took a long drag and then slowly let the air escape from his lips. The motion was almost obscene and John watched in awe. He had no idea how Sherlock sucking poison into his lungs could turn him on so profusely and yet it didn't stop him from getting semi hard.

"I thought you gave up smoking." He said conversationally, not wanting to start an argument. He noticed the pack sitting on the railing of the balcony. "Isn't that why we have the never ending supply of nicotine patches?"

"Yes, well in my haste to pack not only my things but yours, I forgot them, and I needed to think."

"What about?" John pulled the robe tighter, flipping up the collar and moving it so it was covering his neck.

"You." Sherlock responded, his eyes drifting over and taking a long look up John's body. John shivered and knew it wasn't from the cold.

He moved closer. "Anything good?"

Sherlock's gaze drifted away. Not a good sign. "John, I think it is pertinent that we have a conversation about what occurred last night."

"You don't need to be all proper about it. We fucked Sherlock. A right proper shag. Don't tell me you're regretting it."

"On the contrary, my assumption was that you might." He said taking a slow drag and blowing the air out through his teeth.

"Why would I?"

"You had been drinking last night. Your judgment was impaired. Now that you are clear headed, I thought you might have had some regrets about…what we did."

"You thought the only reason I slept with you is because I had been drinking." John inferred.

"Yes." Sherlock nodded. He finished his cigarette and pressed it into the snow to distinguish it.

"You're an idiot." John grabbed the front of Sherlock's coat and pressed their lips together. He leaned his hips into Sherlock so he could feel John's erection and know exactly how John felt. Sherlock tasted like smoke and John tried not to mind too much. Smoking had been a big turn off for him in the past but for Sherlock he was willing to make a concession. Hell, he couldn't think of anything he wouldn't look past when it came to Sherlock.

John broke away but kept his hand on Sherlock's coat, pulling him towards the door. "Now will you come inside? It's fucking freezing out here."

Sherlock complied, grabbing the pack of cigarettes and shoving them in his pocket before allowing John to pull him inside.

XXXXX

Sherlock had apparently decided he was up to exploring John some more and John couldn't help thinking what a terrible idea this was. He was standing with his legs and arms spread, his hands on the cool glass of the balcony door. He was completely naked and felt self-conscious and extremely vulnerable. It wasn't that he didn't trust Sherlock, it was just that he had no idea what to expect and that made him nervous.

"Please relax John." Sherlock said soothingly from where he sat. He was sitting on his heels directly behind where John stood splayed out. He pushed himself up and kissed the small of John's back. "I won't do anything you're uncomfortable with. Perhaps we should have a way for you to communicate if you're in distress."

"Like a safe word?"

"Yes, exactly." Sherlock ran his hand down John's spine. "What should it be?"

"I don't care, you choose." John answered, craning his head to look back at Sherlock.

Sherlock considered it for a moment. "Violin." He decided.

"Why violin?" John asked. He was apposed to violin being their safe word, he was just curious.

"It was the first thing I thought of." Sherlock said with a shrug. "It's also unlikely to be something you would say during intercourse."

"Fair enough." John said turning his head back.

Sherlock's hand caressed down John's buttocks and then came to rest on his hips. He pulled John's cheeks apart with his thumbs and lowered his face. John felt Sherlock's tongue dart out and lick his hole.

"Jesus fucking Christ." John shouted wishing he had something to grip.

Sherlock slid his tongue further in and then back out. John was growing hard as Sherlock's tongue swirled inside his arse. His hand reached up and tugged his bullocks and John moaned loudly against the glass, his breath fogging it up.

Sherlock's tongue pulled away and John desperately wanted to turn around and see what he should expect next but didn't. He also wanted nothing more than to reach down and deal with his throbbing cock but he didn't do that either. He'd broken so easily the first time, he was determined to hold on longer. He tried to think about anything else to sooth his painful erection. But then a spit slick finger invaded his ass and he lost any bit on concentration he'd had.

Sherlock twisted his finger and John pressed his fingers into the glass, feeling like any moment he might break through it entirely. John couldn't help backing his arse up a bit, pushing Sherlock's finger deeper until he found his prostate. John groaned and moved away and back so it happened again. John rested his head on his arm and bit down hard on his own skin.

Sherlock removed his finger and John made a muffled whining noise. He heard Sherlock rise to his feet. "Tease." John shot over his shoulder. Sherlock chuckled and kissed in between John's shoulder blades.

John watched Sherlock's reflection in the glass as best he could, his body aching for Sherlock to finish what he'd started. He watched as Sherlock strode over to the bedside table and snatched up the bottle of lube. John was practically salivating at the thought of what Sherlock might do with that.

Sherlock seemed to be taking his time on the return trip. "If you don't hurry up I'll stick my own fingers up my arse." John threatened impatiently.

"My, my." Sherlock said. John watched as Sherlock's tall frame walked over and wrapped his arms around John's much smaller one. "I've never seen you like this John."

Sherlock's lips were at John's neck, sucking at his flesh vigorously. "It's not like you to be impatient or demanding."

He nipped at John's earlobe. "I quite like it." Sherlock confessed, his breath tickling John's ear and his low, sensual voice going right to John's cock.

Sherlock's hands let go of John's middle and John looked down to watch as Sherlock coated his fingers with the lube. "Oh my god." John said needing to touch himself. His hand went down to give himself some release but Sherlock batted his hand away.

"Not yet." John could see Sherlock's wicked grin reflected in the glass. God, he could have killed him.

"You're a bloody menace." John hissed through his teeth.

Sherlock ignored his anger and took his now lubricated finger and slipped it back into John's hole. He didn't bother being gentle this time, thrusting it as far in as it would go on the first try. John cried out, his hands sliding down, leaving a print on the foggy glass. Sherlock began moving his finger, doing little pulses. He added another finger and John's arse swallowed it greedily. John pushed into him, needing to feel him.

"Sh-Sherlock." John's voice was shaky.

"If you want me to stop, you know what you have to say."

"Don't you even dare think about stopping." John replied gruffly.

Sherlock slipped in a third finger, shoving it in roughly with the others. His other hand trailed down John's stomach and finally touched John's cock. He stroked him gently, moving at odds with the rapid pace of his fingers. John's hips froze, unsure of which direction they wanted to move in, which sensation he wanted more. Sherlock inserted a fourth finger.

"Violin." John shouted, completely overwhelmed. His body had tried to stretch to accommodate but it had been too much.

Sherlock removed his hands and stepped away. "You lasted longer than I expected John, I'm impressed."

"And exactly how many fingers were you planning on putting in there?" John asked agitated.

"As many as would fit." Sherlock's eyes flashed dangerously.

"Jesus." John said going weak in the knees. "Can't you just use your cock like a normal person?"

Sherlock moved closer and ground his hips against John's. "I was getting to that."

"Bloody hell." John's body shuddered with anticipation. He mashed his lips against Sherlock's, biting, sucking and licking in a frantic manner. He sucked on Sherlock's tongue while rolling his nipples between his fingers. The act elicited a loud moan from Sherlock.

"I need you to fuck me." John said, his blood pumping loudly in his ears, the only other sound was their panting breaths. "Now."

John had never felt so crazed in his life. He roughly pushed Sherlock towards the bed, practically throwing him onto it and jumping on top of him. He couldn't wait a second longer. The lube had been neglected and left across the room and John was too impatient to go get it. Instead he took Sherlock's cock into his mouth, covering it with his own saliva. He pulled away when it felt wet enough. Precome was escaping from the slit and he smeared it over the head for good measure.

He sat straddling Sherlock and sat down on his cock, allowing it into his body all at once. He reached up and pinned Sherlock's arms down over his head, making sure he was completely in control this time. He moved his body up and down, tightening himself around Sherlock's thick and throbbing prick. He moaned loudly, the friction feeling incredible.

He desperately wanted to relinquish Sherlock's hands so one of them could take a hold of his neglected penis. But he enjoyed the look of Sherlock helpless and needy beneath him too much to let go. Sherlock began jerking his hips upwards, plunging his cock deeper.

"Oh fuck." John said as Sherlock found the spot. "Fuck yes. Oh God yes."

Sherlock began circling his hips, his cock finding new and interesting places each time John ground down on top of him. When he couldn't stand it any more, he took one hand away and did his best to hold Sherlock's arms up with just one hand. The other seized his cock and pulled on it viciously. He thrust into his own hand while Sherlock continued to gyrate inside him.

"So good." Sherlock mumbled, his head buried against his arm.

"Sherlock." John moaned as he tugged at his angry prick. "I'm so close."

"So am I." Sherlock's grey eyes looked up at John from underneath his eyelashes. His eyes looked about ready to roll back into his head.

"Oh God. Sherlock!" John screamed, tilting his head back. Hot come shot out of his cock and landed on Sherlock's chest. It took a moment for the spots to disappear from his vision

"John." Sherlock cried hoarsely as his body shook, his come filling John.

"Fucking hell." John said running his fingers through his hair, trying to calm his breathing.

"You're incredible." Sherlock breathed, closing his eyes as his lips curled into that same satisfied smile John had seen the night before. Apparently it was the way Sherlock smiled after an orgasm.

"You're fantastic." John mused. He bent down and licked up his come from where it had landed. Sherlock made a humming noise as John's tongue worked his chest. Even though there was no come, he couldn't help taking on of Sherlock's nipples into this mouth and sucking it hard. Sherlock writhed beneath him but John's hand was still hold his hands down and his body pinned Sherlock to the bed.

"Are you trying to kill me?" Sherlock asked with a groan.

John laughed and released Sherlock's nipple. He lifted his body up and tipped onto his side to lie next to him on the bed. Sherlock's eyes were still closed so John moved a little closer, twisting his legs with Sherlock's and resting his head on his thin pale chest. He reached over and grabbed the sheets, lazily throwing them over their bodies. Within moments he was sleeping soundly.


	11. Chapter 11

Authors note: After two chapters of pretty much nothing but porn, I'm going to try and give this chapter some resemblance of a plot. Still going to be a healthy bit of smut though. Hope you guys can suffer through it. Also, sorry this took my longer than usual.

XXXX

"Alright, that's it. We're going out." John said after collapsing on top of Sherlock for the third time that day. His body was spent yet Sherlock seemed determined to shag him until he couldn't walk. He hadn't eaten in god knew how long and he was starting to get stomach cramps from the hunger.

"Why?" Sherlock asked whining, his lower lip protruding more than usual. He could be such a child sometimes.

"Because unlike you, I need to eat. My body runs on food, not orgasms."

"Unfortunately."

"Besides, the whole of Paris is outside and we've stayed cooped up in the hotel."

"You didn't seem to mind before." Sherlock grumbled.

John got off the bed after giving Sherlock a quick kiss. He knelt down by his suitcase and picked out something to wear. He heard Sherlock sigh rather loudly and John rolled his eyes.

"We already did the sight seeing on the first day here and we can have room service sent up. There, see, all settled. No need to get out of bed."

"Sherlock." John groaned. "We need to get out of this room. Even if it's just for an hour."

"That's much too long."

"Fine. If you don't want to go sight seeing with me, I'll call Martin and see if he's up for it."

That got Sherlock out of bed right quick. He mumbled under his breath and reluctantly headed to the bathroom for a shower. John pulled on a clean pair of underwear, thankful Sherlock had thought to pack some and not decided it was another thing he could go without for the weekend. He dressed in jeans and a jumper, planning on warmth over appeal.

Sherlock emerged from the bathroom, dripping wet with nothing more than a towel around his waist. His damp hair was clinging to his forehead. John did his best to keep his thoughts clean. He was determined to go out so he quickly looked away, not wanting to lose his resolve. But God Sherlock looked so fuckable. He forced himself to concentrate and didn't even glance at Sherlock while he finished getting dressed. When he did finally turn to face him, Sherlock had a smug smile on his face that John just wanted to smack.

XXXX

The moment they entered the Louvre, John felt like a giddy schoolboy on a fieldtrip. He was glad he'd made Sherlock get out of their room. He knew art wasn't Sherlock's top thing. Sherlock liked artifacts, old things that told stories he could work out. He wasn't big on sculptures or paintings but there had to be something that would interest him.

Sherlock had his hands in his pockets so John linked his arm through his friend's to lead him up the stairs. "I still don't see why this is necessary." Sherlock grumbled.

"You can't come to Paris and not see the Louvre." John reasoned, hoping Sherlock wasn't going to be this difficult the entire time they were there.

"Maybe you can't." he replied curtly.

"Come on. Thousands of years of art, history and culture. That doesn't interest you at all?" John asked, disappointed by Sherlock's lack of enthusiasm.

"Not especially."

"Fine then, let's go." John said giving up. He turned their bodies around and headed back the way they'd come.

"So I can go back to the room and watch you sulk?" Sherlock planted his feet, making John's body jerk back so suddenly that he almost fell.

"It's better than you sulking the entire time we're here. I won't be able to enjoy it." John replied in exasperation.

"It's fine. I'm better at hiding when I'm unhappy."

"Oh you think so?" John snorted, recalling all the times he'd seen Sherlock throw a tantrum. If there was one thing Sherlock was not good at, it was hiding his dislike for something.

"Well, I usually don't make an effort to hide it."

"So why are you willing to make one now?"

"Isn't that what you do in a relationship?" Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It can be." John contemplates the question until rather suddenly what Sherlock said really hits him. "Is that what we are? In a relationship?"

"Why? Don't you want to be?" Sherlock's eyes were surveying him, waiting to see if he's unsure.

"Yes but there's more to being in a relationship than sex and doing things you don't want to." John explained, rolling his eyes. If Sherlock thought that was all it took to be in a relationship, they were going to be in trouble.

"Such as?"

"I don't know." John offhandedly thought that if it were anyone else, this wouldn't need explaining. "Going to dinner, enjoying each other's company…"

"But we already did that before this weekend."

John rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. If he couldn't even explain it properly to Sherlock, how in the world was this going to work? "I'm not explaining it right."

"Smoking."

"What?"

"You hate smoking and yet you're willing to overlook that fact that I, more rarely but on occasion, smoke." Sherlock clarified. "I've seen you turn down offers several times because the person smokes."

"How do you know it was because of the smoking?" John challenged. Sometimes it unnerved him the way Sherlock just knew things. After a year it shouldn't have, but it did. John was used to people being oblivious until John felt like sharing certain information about himself. Sherlock could read it in seconds. And it annoyed John in a way, that he wasn't allowed secrets, but not too terribly.

"John." Sherlock smiled as if this were obvious. It wasn't obvious to anyone else. "They were all attractive, well within your usual type—"

"I have a type?" John interrupted. He had never really stopped to think about it.

"Certainly. It differs for sex. For women you go for plain but pretty, small breasts—"

"Yes, alright." John cut him off again, seeing the point fairly quickly.

"For men it's much different. You like taller men, good looking, fit, usually dark hair but you're not too picky. You reach higher with men."

"You mean I go for men that are out of my league?" John asked, somewhat offended by that.

"Not at all. I was simply saying your taste in men is much less bland than your taste in women."

"Nice way to give yourself a compliment." John scoffed, since Sherlock knew perfectly well that he was John's type.

"Anyways." Sherlock interjected, ignoring his comment. "All of these people, three women and two men, over the past year have been well within your usual parameters for a mate. They were also clearly interested in you and yet you didn't go home with any of them. It took me awhile to figure out the link between them. They all smoked."

John blinked a few times, astounded at the level of detail Sherlock had put in to his love life. He had assumed his dating was something Sherlock had categorized as dull. It turned out he had been paying avid attention. "I don't go home with anyone who's interested in me. I do actually enjoy dating people."

"Yes but you've had a healthy sex life over the past year."

"It's a bloody miracle I had any time for sex, the way you've kept me dashing about London on all your crazy cases."

Sherlock didn't respond, but he dropped his arm and John's fell to his side with a thud. Sherlock kept walking but John stopped dead in his tracks.

"Sherlock?"

He didn't stop.

"Sherlock!" John's voice echoed through the empty hall. Sherlock turned around to face John. John's breathing was heavy as his anger boiled up inside him.

"Please, please tell me you haven't been taking case after case, running me ragged just to keep me from dating."

"Of course not." Sherlock snapped. "You know how important the work is to me."

"Yes but you've taken on double the cases over the past month. I get home from work and you've got me running all over London. Were you trying to keep me busy?"

"No." Sherlock said a little too quickly. He took a breath before saying anything else. "I took the work as it came, keeping you occupied was just a desirable side effect."

For some reason John didn't entirely believe him. "Sherlock you can't keep doing things like this, especially not now."

"Why especially not now?"

John stared at him, giving him a wry smile and waited for Sherlock to catch up. Slowly it seemed to dawn on him what John meant. "If we're going to do this and I mean really do this, not just for the weekend but for the foreseeable future, I need to know that I'm allowed to make my own decisions."

"Of course you are." Sherlock looked somewhat insulted.

"Am I? Look at this weekend. You jet me off to Paris to achieve what you want instead of just asking me. Sometimes it feels like I'm a doll you lead around by a string."

"John." Sherlock said softly, closing the gap between them. "Never feel like that. It was never my intention to make you feel that way. I'll try to be more considerate in the future."

"Thank you." John wondered how long that would last. They'd return home and Sherlock would be back to asking John to retrieve his phone from his pocket. And of course John would, but he had to have at least the illusion that his life was his own. Now that they were sleeping together, it was like Sherlock owned every bit of him. The idea of it was equally thrilling and frightening.

Sherlock awkwardly wrapped his arms around John to give him a hug. He patted John's back a few times and then pulled away. "You really are rubbish at hugging." John said affectionately.

"Well this is a coincidence!" John heard Arthur's unmistakable cheery voice from behind him. John turned to find Arthur and Martin stand behind him.

"Hello." John said grinning. He glanced back at Sherlock, who did not look as pleased as John to see them.

"We were going to come over sooner but it looked like you two were having a moment." Martin said shifting his weight from foot to foot, looking somewhat uncomfortable.

"No Douglas this time?" John inquired after the missing member.

"He decided his time would be better spent at one of those girly shows." Martin blushed from the very thought of it. It was obviously why Martin had chosen to come with Arthur and not follow Douglas. The thought of Martin at The Moulin Rouge or somewhere similar was quite amusing.

"And mum is treating herself to a spa since you guys are paying her so much for this trip. It must be a lot, I've never seen her so happy." Arthur added. John couldn't help wondering just how generous Mycroft had been.

"Shall we get on with it?" Sherlock asked, sweeping past the two men without so much as a greeting.

"Care to join us?" John offered. "It will probably be somewhat unpleasant but if you want…"

"Brilliant!" Arthur said.

"I guess that means we will." Martin translated. He looked somewhat apprehensive and John assumed it was because of Sherlock's icy demeanor.

The three of them caught up with Sherlock and they began walking around. Arthur and Sherlock went through each painting rather quickly while Martin and John took some time to appreciate each one. John watched Sherlock and Arthur, making sure Sherlock wouldn't kill the steward. Arthur was chatting away and Sherlock's face was stoic. Every time Sherlock would move on to the next work of art, Arthur would follow, still flapping his lips. John wasn't sure how long Sherlock would keep his composure. He thought about saving Sherlock but it was just too riveting to stop.

"So I take it things were resolved between you two?" Martin asked as they stood in front of a painting depicting the French Revolution.

"I suppose so." John shrugged, not wanting to go into too much detail. He had no idea what color Martin would turn if John told him just how they had resolved things.

"Well you seem to be in better spirits than the last time I saw you."

"Sorry about that night. I don't usually drink like that."

"No, it's fine. It was nice to have an honest conversation with someone. I mean all conversations with Arthur are honest because he can't tell lies, at least not convincingly. But he's not exactly the kind of person you have meaningful talks with. And Douglas, you try saying anything sincere to him and all you get in return is sarcasm."

They moved on to the next painting of a bunch of men on a wooden raft. "I get it. Sherlock isn't one for deep conversations full of feelings and emotions. It's not really his thing. If I want to vent to someone I have to turn to our landlady, Mrs. Hudson. She's a fairly good listener but there are some things you just can't talk to her about."

"Like your crush on your flatmate?" Martin guessed.

"Actually, Mrs. Hudson had already convinced herself we were a couple. First time I ever went to look at that flat, she assumed we wouldn't be needing two rooms."

"That must have been awkward."

"Not really. I told her of course we would be needing two. I didn't want to get ahead of myself, after all I had just met Sherlock. I was already somewhat infatuated but that night be shot me down when we were at dinner."

"He took you to dinner and _then _told you he didn't want to go out with you? Seems a little backwards, don't you think?"

"Dinner was part of a case we were on. I was sort of not so subtly but in a roundabout way trying to find out if Sherlock was gay and single. He saw through it fairly easily."

"And shot you down?"

"Told me he was married to his work." John smiled to himself, recalling the memory of that night at Angelo's. It had stung at the time but had lessened as he'd learned to hide his feelings. "Now that I know him better and have seen him react to other people's advances, he was actually pretty polite when he turned me down. I've seen him reduce women to tears when they ask him out."

"That's the sort of man you want to be with?" Martin asked, making a face.

"Yes, well I wish I could be a rational human being all the time." John said with a sigh. "Unfortunately that's not possible."

"There's no accounting for taste." Martin agreed with a shrug.

"Come on you two slowpokes!" Arthur said appearing from around the corner. "We're going to go see the Egyptian exhibit!"

Martin and John grinned at each other and followed the steward, ignoring the rest of the paintings. They went downstairs to the Egyptian exhibit and were greeted right away by a sphinx. Sherlock was standing in front of it, staring with a vague interest.

"Did you know in Egypt they used to pull your brain out through your nose?" Arthur offered up. "I mean when you were dead, not just for fun. Or I hope not."

Arthur eyes widened, aghast at the prospect of that. John stifled a laugh and rubbed his thumbnail across his eyebrow. "Arthur, it's part of the mummification process. They removed organs to preserve them in jars."

"Wow! How do you know that?"

"Well I am a doctor."

"And how often as a doctor do you mummify your patients and remove their vital organs?" Sherlock asked, giving John a wry smile.

"Do you have to do that?" Arthur asked, not understanding Sherlock's sarcasm.

"No Arthur." John shook his head. "Right, well I think I've had enough art and culture for the day. I'm beyond famished and I think we passed a bistro on the way. You two care to join us?"

"I want to stay and look at the mummies and things." Arthur said, dancing a bit in his spot like he was unsure what he wanted to do.

"Why don't you to go ahead and get a table?" Martin suggested. "I'm sure Arthur won't take long. We'll meet you there."

"Brilliant Skip!" Arthur nodded his approval of the plan, beaming away.

XXXXXX

John and Sherlock had just sat down at the table when Arthur and Martin walked in to join them. Sherlock had been scowling in disapproval the entire time. John didn't bother saying anything and just let his friend stew in his own anger. He didn't really care if Sherlock was unhappy about Martin and Arthur joining them. John enjoyed their company.

"You missed some really brilliant stuff chaps." Arthur informed them as they sat down.

"You breezed past most of it so fast, you practically missed it yourself." Martin said somewhat out of the breath. John assumed it was from trying to keep up with Arthur.

They settled into an easy conversation and laughed as they tried to figure out what the hell the menu actually said. They resigned themselves to somewhat mystery meals instead of asking their waiter to translate. They decided it would be more fun that way. Since none of them were picky eaters, it didn't really matter what was brought.

John glanced over at Sherlock, who is sitting with his elbows on the table, his chin resting in his hand watching Arthur. The steward was shoving a bun into his mouth, hardly stopping to chew. And Sherlock stared with a curious fascination like he's watching a monkey in a cage. John remembered when Sherlock used to look at him like that. Like John was a puzzle, an enigma, something to be experimented on until it made sense.

John thought about mentioning it in the cab ride back to the hotel but decided against it. They'd said goodbye to Martin and Arthur after the meal and got into separate cabs. The other two were off to see the Arc de Triomphe while John knew Sherlock had had enough of being social and out in the world. He'd tried Sherlock's patience enough for one day.

The moment they stepped into the hotel room, Sherlock crushed his body against John's. He grabbed his hair roughly and pulled his face to his. It was a blur of lips and tongues and teeth until Sherlock broke away to kiss down John's neck. "I assume you're through punishing me?" he said against John's skin.

"I wasn't punishing you." John's breathing had become somewhat erratic. Sherlock's knee went in between his legs and John couldn't help rubbing up against it. "Why else would you have invited them to eat with us?"

"Because I'm polite." John said trailing his fingers down Sherlock's back, causing Sherlock to shiver. "Besides, you seem rather fascinated by Arthur at the bistro."

Sherlock pulled his mouth away and rested his hand against the wall above John's head, looming over him. "I merely wondered how someone as inept as him learned human speech or can in fact do basic human functions. The fact that he can dress himself seems remarkable."

"He is a bit dim, but he's harmless."

Sherlock's free hand snaked up John's jumper and rubbed his nipple. "Is Arthur really who you want to be thinking about right now?"

"No." John's breath was shaky as it escaped his lips.

"Well then."

His hand trailed back down John's chest and undid the buttons and zipper on his jeans. Tugging them down along with the underwear, Sherlock dropped to his knees. He licked his lips and John's cock twitched in response. Oh how the littlest thing affected him now.

He took the head into his obscene mouth, pressing his tongue into the slit. John could feel himself growing in Sherlock's mouth, getting fully hard. Sherlock's teeth just barely grazed along John's length, eliciting a loud moan from John. He twisted his fingers into Sherlock's dark curls.

John's eyes fluttered but he snapped them open in order to watch his cock disappear fully into Sherlock's mouth. His mouth stretched open to compensate and began bobbing back and forth. John groaned and forced himself to be very still. His entire body was begging him to thrust harder into Sherlock's mouth but he didn't want to overwhelm or choke him.

Sherlock was humming and moaning as his gorgeous mouth worked John's prick. His eyes flickered up and watched John as he came into Sherlock's mouth. When his orgasm finished, John disentangled his fingers from Sherlock's hair and they dropped to his sides.

"You're a bloody marvel, you are." John said breathless.

"I'm well aware." Sherlock said, rising to his feet. He gently pressed his lips to John's. John chuckled at Sherlock's complete lack of humility. Then again, humility was overrated.


	12. Chapter 12

John noticed something was off. Something was wrong. Not in an awful, something bad is about to happen way, but in a strange way. He couldn't help the feeling that something was missing. It was as if the world had tilted and was now spinning off its axis.

He glanced around the room, wondering what it could possibly be. Sherlock was out on the balcony and John went to the door and watched him for a moment. He'd had this sort of feeling before but at varying degrees. It was usually at its highest during a case but sometimes he'd get the feeling just around the flat. He'd get an uneasy feeling and go check on Sherlock. It often meant he would catch Sherlock in the middle of an experiment, about to burn down their flat, or do something equally heinous.

Sherlock walked back into the room, smelling like an ashtray. John tried not to let it bother him too terribly. He only had to put up with it for today and then they'd be flying back home, where Sherlock could start using the nicotine patches again. Sherlock seemed to read John's mind and went into the bathroom to wash his hands and brush his teeth.

John was still plagued with the unnerved feeling. It was similar to when he knew he should be doing something but couldn't remember what. He lowered himself onto the bed and tried to distract himself. Luckily, Sherlock finished in the bathroom and walked over, sitting down next to John on the bed. John wrapped his fingers around the nape of Sherlock's neck, twisting them into the curls there, and bringing Sherlock's face to meet his.

Sherlock smelled like soap and smoke and toothpaste. John took it all in, deepening the kiss in order to distract himself from the feeling in the pit of his stomach. What was wrong? What was missing? He tried to convince himself it was just that he was homesick for London and Baker Street but he knew that wasn't it at all. It was rather annoying to think that if he were Sherlock, he probably would have figured it out already.

He did his best impression of someone with Sherlock's abilities and tried to figure it out. Most of the things in the room were unfamiliar, so it couldn't be anything like that. He hadn't packed his own suitcase so it wasn't that he had forgotten something he needed. There wasn't anything back home that he could think of that he really wished was here. Pajamas had become rather superfluous so he didn't care that Sherlock hadn't packed them anymore.

He pulled away from the kiss and looked over Sherlock. The only conclusion was that whatever was missing had something to do with him. Sherlock sat very still while John's eyes went over every bit of him. It finally dawned on him and John chastised him for not having figured it out sooner.

"Sherlock, where's your phone?"

"What?"

"Your mobile. Where is it?" John felt almost frantic, he wasn't entirely sure why.

"It's switched off. Why?" Sherlock was obviously taken aback by John's reaction. He looked thoroughly confused.

"It's…switched…off?" John said slowly, the realization of what that meant washing over him. Sherlock never switched off his phone. Never. The only time the phone had ever been off was when the battery died and even that was rare because Sherlock always remembered to recharge it. John considered the phone to be an extension of Sherlock; he was never seen without it.

That's what had been so unsettling. John hadn't seen Sherlock's phone in his hand since he'd the plane ride over. Three whole days and Sherlock hadn't picked up his phone once. It should have been obvious. Sherlock had not only put his phone away but had turned it off. For John. It was incomprehensible. Sherlock probably had no idea but it was the nicest gesture he could have done.

John was in such a state of euphoria he didn't even notice the tears that had formed in the corners of his eyes until Sherlock's face seemed to shut down. "What's wrong?" he asked gripping John by the shoulders.

"Nothing." John wiped the tears away and laughed at the absurdity of it. "Oh God, nothing. I can't believe you…did that."

"John, I don't see what the big deal is."

John moved closer and buried his face into Sherlock's neck. He gripped the front of Sherlock's shirt and held on tight. Sherlock lifted his arm to wrap it around John's waist.

"So I take it you're pleased?"

John nodded, his head rubbing against Sherlock as he did so. He was too choked up to speak.

"Good." John could hear from Sherlock's voice that he was smiling.

XXXXX

It was their last night in Paris and they were going out. John was insistent that their last evening away not be spent in bed. They had plenty of time for shagging when they got home. They would not have Paris for very much longer.

Sherlock was strangely compliant. He seemed different since the moment on the couch. John had no idea why but he wasn't about to question it. Sherlock wouldn't stay agreeable for long so John was going to make the most of it.

John was dressed in the tuxedo from Harry's wedding. He figured since Sherlock had packed it, he might as well wear it. He gazed at himself in the bathroom mirror and thought he looked perfectly ridiculous. The tux was bit too tight since he'd been much fitter during Harry's wedding.

John emerged from the bathroom to find Sherlock in a tux as well. Sherlock's back was to him and when he turned it was like something out of a movie. John went a bit weak at the knees and knew he'd actually gasped. Sherlock was standing there in his perfectly tailored tuxedo, the jacket open with the shirt tight across his chest. The bow tie was hanging undone and he had his hands in his pockets, looking ready for a photo shoot. John couldn't help thinking how absolutely unfair life was.

"Oh fuck you." John groaned impetuously. He hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"Problem?" Sherlock asked, his brow crinkling.

"No." John shook his head, covering his mouth with his hand. He pinched his bottom lip together and just stared at the man before him.

"What?" Sherlock asked after a few moments. He rocked his hips a bit and John could feel himself swoon. "Is something wrong?"

John snorted. "You're standing there looking like James bloody Bond and you want to know if there's something wrong?"

"Well I can change if you'd prefer…"

John strode over quickly and grabbed the undone bowtie, pulling Sherlock's face to his. He pulled on one side of the fabric until it fell to the floor. His hands descended down and cupped Sherlock's magnificent arse and he walked backwards towards the corner desk. When Sherlock's thigh hit the desk, he sat down to even the height difference.

John pushed down on his shoulders until he was lying on his back on the desk. John crawled on top of him and began unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt, kissing the flesh as it became exposed.

"I thought you wanted to go out." Sherlock said, panting.

"Not bloody likely." John growled. He undid the last button and pulled the shirt from Sherlock's trousers. "I let you out like that and they'll be riots in the streets."

"I can't say I'm disappointed in the change of plans." Sherlock smiled, lifting his head up from the desk to look at John.

John's hands fumbled a bit as he undid Sherlock's trousers. Sherlock lifted his hips to allow John to tug the fabric down. Sherlock's shirt was still buttoned at the cuffs and his trousers were down around his ankles, leaving the rest of him bare.

John got off the desk and quickly pulled off Sherlock's shoes so his pants could finally come free. He grabbed Sherlock's hand and pulled him up, quickly unbuttoning the cuffs so the shirt could come off too.

He devoured Sherlock in another kiss, pressing himself against Sherlock's now naked framed. Sherlock's nimble fingers reached up and made quick work of John's shirt, slipping it off his shoulders along with his tuxedo jacket. His hands went down and rubbed the bulge in John's trousers. John moaned against Sherlock's mouth.

"One second." John said pulling away. He hurried over and grabbed the lube and raced back. He grabbed Sherlock by the shoulders and turned him around, bending him over the desk. He slicked up his fingers and pushed them inside Sherlock's arse. Sherlock moaned and grabbed either side of the desk. He arched his back up as John found his prostate on the first try.

"I'm ready." Sherlock said, his breath shaky as John removed his fingers.

John tore at his own trousers, his slippery fingers making the task more difficult. He almost ripped them off in his eagerness. When he finally got them open, he let them fall to his ankles, pulled down his shorts and let them join his pants. He had no patience to remove them entirely.

He turned the bottle of lubricant upside down and poured a small amount into his hand. He barely coated his cock, wanting as much friction as possible. "Hurry." Sherlock hissed.

John grabbed Sherlock's hips and thrust himself inside his hole roughly. Sherlock cried out, clutching the desk until his knuckles were white. John pounded into him without mercy, moving up and in, causing Sherlock to writhe underneath him. Sherlock's hand shot up and gripped the window curtain, threatening to pull it down.

A slew of moans, whimpers and groans escaped Sherlock's lips. The only intelligible word was John's name. John reached up and gripped Sherlock's shoulders, bending his body in order to reach, and pulled Sherlock's body down repeatedly to meet his. They slammed against each other, the desk shaking underneath them.

John trailed his hands down Sherlock's back and then rested a hand on Sherlock's stomach, the other gripping his neglected cock tightly. John didn't even have to move his hand, the movement of their bodies thrusting Sherlock into his hand.

"John…" Sherlock gasped, his body convulsing as the orgasm rippled through him. He came into John's hand and soon after John's own orgasm made his vision blur and he came.

He fell onto Sherlock, both of them slumped over the desk. John kissed down Sherlock's back and placed his hand on top of Sherlock's.

They never did go out, instead getting room service brought up. They lied in bed and enjoyed their fish and chips. John was surprised that Sherlock actually ate. Their last night in Paris had no gone at all how John had planned. He didn't mind though. He didn't mind in the slightest.


End file.
